


Heart(less) and Soul(full)

by subverx



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Porn, Attempts at humour, Demon! Oikawa, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, It's about ten percent porn, M/M, Meeting for the first time, NSFW, Oikawa being unperceptive about relationships, Slice of Life, Strangers to Lovers, demon contractor AU, five percent angst, mentioned matsuhana, the angst and porn aren't the entire fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7177601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subverx/pseuds/subverx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Oikawa is a demon whose job is contracting humans for their souls, and his next victim is Iwaizumi. Somehow, what is supposed to be a quick case turns into a two year long affair – and then some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart(less) and Soul(full)

**Author's Note:**

> There's one major sex scene that if you don't want to read you can skip over it. Stop reading at '"It will."' and Ctrl + F to 'There was a silence.' However, there are also mentions of sex on various occasions after the above scene.  
> Also this has only been edited by me, so there may be some mistakes.

  
_He calls me the devil_  
_I make him wanna sin_  
_Every time I knock_  
_He can’t help but let me in_  


~*~  


Despite being a demon who stole human souls for a living, Oikawa wasn’t _heartless._  


Soulless, yes. But heartless – oh no. Being a Contractor, although it was fun to see the looks of misery and outrage on humans’ faces after they realised they had just sold their soul, was difficult. On occasion. Oikawa wasn’t saying he felt _sorry_ for them; just sometimes, as he took their souls, he would have a fleeting sensation of sympathy. He kept quiet about it, however; none of the other Contractors – or demons – ever gave any notion of feeling pity toward humans. He didn’t want them to believe he was getting _soft_.  


Despite this, there was _one_ reason that Oikawa wanted everyone to know of him as not an ‘ordinary’ demon.  


“I’m half-incubus!” he found himself declaring to the new interns at work one day. He was certain he had caught the quieter demon, a guy with parted brown hair and a solemn expression, eyeing him up. If one _could_ with such an uninterested face. “My dear students, I appreciate the looks of wonder you bestow upon me, but it’s not my fault – I was born like this, it’s all natural-”  


“Oikawa-san,” Yahaba said patiently from behind him. Oikawa paused in his speech to shoot an inquisitive glance at his junior employee; Yahaba closed the folder he was holding and smiled apologetically. “You’ve already told Kunimi-kun about your status. In fact, everyone in this _building_ knows, never mind our entire department, and I’m pretty sure you’ve told the mailman at least _twice_ -”  


“Your point, Yahaba?” Oikawa asked, slightly miffed. He ignored Kunimi’s small eye roll and slapped a hand to his hip.  


Everyone else in the conference room – not that they actually used it for conferences; it was mostly just employed for debriefs about cases and distribution of new ones – paid no attention to Oikawa and his theatrics. They were used to it, after at least two centuries of working with him, especially when their department was a small one. For demons, contracting human souls was surprisingly not a popular occupation.  


But it paid well. _Really_ well. The salary was mainly the reason why Oikawa had decided, as a young demon fledgling some eons ago, to become a Contractor. He was confused, at first, as to why there was not much interest in that area of work – but after his first day in the profession, he realised why.  


Because it involved talking to humans. And demons – well, to put it lightly – _loathed_ them.  


Most moaned that they were too fickle with their wishes in life. Others said that their food tasted like the flames that scorched the entrance to Hell. Some even complained about how _squishy_ and _temporary_ they were, with their limited life spans and soft, flabby skin.  


To Oikawa, though, the humans that walked the world above him were... interesting. That was not quite the right word – he had never been able to label it, really, and doubted he ever would – and yet there was something so _fascinating_ about the species that he couldn’t help but centre his life around them and their fickle, squishy selves.  
The look of torment on their faces when he told them they’d remain in Hell for the rest of eternity once their mortal body collapsed was always a plus, too.  


“I’m just reminding you that you’ve been given a new case,” Yahaba said. “One that you have yet to look at. So if you could stop harassing the interns and actually, you know, do your job, that’d be great.”  


He held the nondescript, beige folder out. Oikawa huffed and, after a split second, took it.  


“Just remember who the superior employee here is,” he said as he flipped through the contents.  


“I always do,” Yahaba grinned, a noise of complaint following as Oikawa, without looking up, reached out and yanked on his tie. He pushed Oikawa away good-naturedly and fiddled with his collar. “Boss wants you to start this case as soon as possible, by the way. Said that since you’ve completed all your others so quickly, you can have this one too.”  


“Lucky me,” Oikawa mumbled sarcastically. He didn’t particularly mind – after all, he was the most prestigious Contractor in his entire department for a reason. But sometimes it was just nice to complain every once in awhile.  


Oikawa flicked back to beginning of the folder’s contents and actually read the text this time. Like every other case, every other folder, the first page was a profile on the victim, details of their whereabouts and living conditions scrawled in black ink on parchment. Demons still hadn’t grasped the concept of technology.  


“He’s not bad looking,” Oikawa muttered as his eyes roved over the sketch pinned to the profile with a dragon’s tooth. It was simple, drawn out in charcoal, depicting a man – early twenties, maybe – with a neutral expression and spiked black hair. Either that, or humans had decided that nocturnal creatures had become a new type of head fashion.  


Yahaba shook his head fondly. “You say that about every human.”  


“True,” Oikawa hummed. His eyes scanned the page until he found the victim’s name and then he murmured it out loud, voice soft as though he were whispering a prayer.“Iwaizumi Hajime. Huh.” There was a moment of silence and then Oikawa snapped the folder shut, raising his eyes to grin at Yahaba. “I better go see if this human can handle the heat of Hell’s finest, then.”

~*~

Iwaizumi Hajime was _hot_ , even for a human.  


The sketch hadn’t done him much justice, if Oikawa was to be honest – not that he had expected it to be. Demons were awfully vain like that; if any unremarkable, insignificant human was even _slightly_ as good looking as a demon then they would be mocked and ridiculed for the rest of forever.  


But this man. This man was _fit_.  


He was twenty-three years old, Oikawa deduced as he watched Iwaizumi Hajime clean his apartment. He was twenty-three, tanned with ink-black hair and hazel eyes, and was very much on the list of mortals Oikawa would have loved to ravage before stealing their souls.  


Maybe after, too. He could work with the whole love-hate thing.  


But then Oikawa remembered his job and he sighed, stretching his arms from where he was seated on the kitchen countertop. He was invisible – at least, for now he was – and thus could have spent _days_ observing the human. Maybe not literally, but Oikawa already felt a kind of tug toward the man, something that pulled at the frail strings of his blackened heart and breathed, ‘this is why humanity was created’.  


That, and the human’s dancing to the loud, pulsing music currently spilling from the radio beside Oikawa was kind of funny.  


With a flick of his wrist, the radio shut off. Oikawa couldn’t help but smirk as Iwaizumi Hajime stilled in the scrubbing of the oven stove and turned toward him, eyebrows furrowed. Those eyebrows lifted, rather humorously high, when he caught sight of the demon lounging on the counter.  


“Yoo-hoo,” Oikawa waved at him. He swung his legs and flashed a peace sign at the confounded human. “My name’s Oikawa, Oikawa Tooru, but you can call me Contractor if you like, or even-”  


Oikawa never got to finish his sentence, because the next thing he knew a frying pan was being swung at his face.  


Instinctively, he ducked. One of his hands reached out to grab the pan and he wrenched it from the human, flinging it in the vague direction of the door.  


“This isn’t the most happy greeting I’ve ever gotten, but you could’ve at least said hello!” Oikawa exclaimed, scandalised, once he had gotten over the slight shock. Iwaizumi Hajime blinked at him, surprise flitting over his features for a split-second. Then Oikawa found himself being hauled down from the countertop by the collar of his button-up shirt; he was about to complain when suddenly he was centimetres away from a pair of narrowed eyes. Oikawa’s breath caught.  


What he had previously categorised as hazel was simply... not. They were more gold, flecked with brown and emerald, although Oikawa thought he caught sight of a blue ring around the pupil of the human’s left eye. They were stunning, reminding Oikawa of the constellations he used to obsess over as a fledgling.  


For a moment, Oikawa was speechless. And then the man opened his mouth.  


“Who,” Iwaizumi Hajime snarled, lips a furious twisted shape. His teeth glinted in the kitchen’s crappy lighting, “the _literal fuck_ are you?”  


Oikawa pouted, having regained the ability to speak somewhere around the expletive. “I already told you. I’m Oikawa Tooru, but you can call me Oikawa. I’m your Contractor-”  


“What the hell is _that_? No, wait-” the human cut himself off with a minute shake of his head. Oikawa watched in amusement, noting the man’s racing heartbeat and the harsh pant of his breath. “How the fuck did you get in here? _Why_? If you’re gonna steal anything I’ve got jack shit, I’ll tell you that now-”  


“I’m not a thief,” Oikawa rolled his eyes, the tough-guy act quickly growing old. “If you let go of me I’ll tell you why I’m here,” – the human glared at him distrustfully – “Iwaizumi Hajime.”  


The man’s eyes widened. “How do you know my name?” he asked, voice shaking despite his clear attempt at keeping it steady.  


“I’ll tell you everything,” Oikawa said half-soothingly, half-impatiently. “Just _let go of me_.”  


Iwaizumi Hajime immediately released him, either encouraged by Oikawa’s tone or the repulse that shuddered beneath his skin at this strange man. Oikawa straightened up and re-fastened the second button of his shirt, leaving the top one open; he flicked his hair and settled a hand on his hip.  


“Wow. You’re rather feisty for a human, aren’t ya?”  


“Cut the crap,” Iwaizumi Hajime scowled. He frowned and took a couple of steps back. “And what do you mean by ‘for a human’?”  


“Exactly what is says on the tin, Iwaizumi Hajime,” Oikawa said. He smiled winningly. “Can I call you Iwaizumi?”  


“No.”  


“Great. Well, Iwaizumi, as I just – rather heavily – implied, I’m not human.” Oikawa tilted his head to the side and grinned, eyes mere slits and mouth curling upwards. “I’m a demon.”  


Oikawa had gotten numerous, various reactions to that statement before. Some of his victims screamed; others laughed in his face until he produced a ball of flames, or something equally ‘magical’, as they liked to call it; he even had the few who had begged for forgiveness. He didn’t know why they were begging _him_ – he was all for sinning. His entire _existence_ was based off of mortal corruption.  


However, Iwaizumi’s reaction was completely different. And painful.  


But, hey, at least Oikawa got to add ‘whacked in the face with a skillet by a hot man wearing marigold gloves’ to his list.

~*~  


“So,” Oikawa said ten minutes later. He was lazing on the arm of one of the living room’s sofas, a once-cream-now-grey thing that looked as though if he sat down properly, he would break the springs. Iwaizumi was across from him in the armchair, hands scrunched into fists on top of his denim-clad thighs. “Are you ready to listen to me now?”  


“Only if you unfreeze me, you freak,” Iwaizumi spat from behind gritted teeth. Oikawa wagged a finger at him and tutted.  


“That’s not how you go about winning over my generous side, Iwaizumi-kun. But, because, I’m nice,” he paid no attention to Iwaizumi’s derisive snort, “I’ll do as you ask. If – and only if – you promise not to physically assault me again.”  


_Because that hurt_ , he wanted to whine. He could _definitely_ feel a bruise blooming beneath the skin of his cheek.  


Iwaizumi glared at him, eyes simmering with hatred. Oikawa arced a delicate eyebrow at the look, almost impressed; it wasn’t very often he met a human angry enough to glower at him like this.  


Or dumb enough. That could work, too.  


“Is that a yes?” Oikawa hedged because, in all honesty, he kind of liked Iwaizumi’s face. He didn’t want to have to ruin it just to get the man to abide by him.  


“Fine,” Iwaizumi eventually snapped. Oikawa clicked his fingers and Iwaizumi immediately relaxed, body loosening from its taut position – although it straightened back up almost instantly as he leaned back in the armchair to get away from the demon. “Now what the fuck do you want from me?”  


“My my,” Oikawa clucked his teeth. “You’re not a very friendly human, are you? All of these questions and curses – not to mention how you hit me over the head with a _skillet_ , of all things.”  


To his irritation, Iwaizumi smirked at him despite how his chest still heaved with fear. “You deserved it.”  


“How?!” Oikawa couldn’t help but exclaim.  


“Well, first of all you come into my home. Then you turn my music off. And, to top it all off, you tell me you’re a stupid _demon_.”  


“Stupid?” Oikawa flung his hands out, beyond flabbergasted. He pointed a finger at Iwaizumi. “I’ll tell you right now, buddy, I’m not _stupid_. I’m the best Contractor in my department – I’ve completed every single case I’ve been given – I’ve never missed a day of work in the two hundred years I’ve been at this job-”  


“That’s nice and all,” Iwaizumi interrupted him. He actually had the gall to look _bored_ , “but are you going to tell me why you’re here or should I get the holy water?”  


Oikawa blinked. He folded his arms and tried not to let the annoyance he felt show on his face. “That won’t work on me,” he mumbled insolently. Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, and so Oikawa let out a gust of breath in the most dramatic manner he could.  


“I’m here,” he said tersely, “because I wish to offer you a contract. One that could give you everything your fragile, squidgy heart desires.”  


Iwaizumi stared at him in apparent disinterest. “Not with that attitude you won’t.”  


“Wh-what does _that_ mean?!” Oikawa spluttered, face contorting in complete disbelief. Iwaizumi shrugged.  


“Well, for a salesman, you’re pretty shit at the whole ‘selling’ thing.”  


“A _salesman_ – I’m a _demon_ , you useless sack of fat-”  


“That’s rule number one broken already, right?” Iwaizumi got up and headed back into the kitchen. Oikawa, churning with anger so much he was at a loss for words, trailed after him. “You should never be rude to the customer.” Iwaizumi grinned at him over his shoulder as he stuck the marigold gloves back on. “I think you just lost your first case in two hundred years, _buddy_.”  


Iwaizumi smacked a hand against the top of the radio and it blared to life once more, booming out a song about crossroads. Iwaizumi snickered and, to Oikawa’s incredulity, went back to cleaning the stove.  


Ten seconds passed before Oikawa recovered. Ten seconds of jarringly loud rock music and the quieter _swish_ of sponge over metal. Ten seconds of Iwaizumi humming along to the beat beneath his breath.  


And then Oikawa moved. He grabbed hold of the radio and hurled it across the room, ignoring the loud _smash_ that happened when it crashed against the doorframe. Silence poured over them. Iwaizumi started, but before he could say anything Oikawa grabbed him by the back of his shirt and threw him up against one of the cupboard doors, crowding into the man’s space with a hand around his neck and rage hot on his tongue.  


“You owe me a new radio,” Iwaizumi said, as though he wasn’t seconds away from being strangled. But Oikawa could see the fear swirling in his eyes, hear the panic rising in his tone.  


“Shut up,” he hissed. His fingers itched to claw their way into the soft flesh of Iwaizumi’s throat; this was the first time a human had ever angered him so much. “Just – _shut up_.”  


On the last word the bulbs in the kitchen burst; glass rained down around them as they were plummeted into darkness.  


“I am a demon,” Oikawa growled. Iwaizumi was a silhouette, just a sliver of cheek and lips and iris. “I am offering you the greatest chance you will ever _get_ at a better life. You’ll be a _fool_ to say no to this.”  
“I guess I’m a fool then,” Iwaizumi said. His voice was stone cold. “Now get _off_ me.”  


Oikawa seethed and there was a moment in which his nails pressed against Iwaizumi’s neck. But then he relented and moved away, yanking on the lapels of his blazer. Iwaizumi made a small sound of what possibly could have been relief.  


“This is your last chance,” Oikawa said. His voice was quieter now, sharper. He thought he saw Iwaizumi shudder. “Say yes, Iwaizumi, and you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted.”  


“You make it sound so easy,” Iwaizumi laughed. The sound was harsh. “Yet we both know it’s anything _but_.”  


Oikawa scowled as he prepared himself to leave, giving up – for now. “Goodbye, then, Iwaizumi. But I _will_ be in touch.”  


“I’d rather you not.”  


It was childish, Oikawa knew, but the millisecond before he vanished he stuck his finger up at the human, half-glad it wouldn’t have been seen due to the dimness.  


He _really_ regretted labelling Iwaizumi as hot.

~*~  
_Must be homesick for the real  
I’m the realest it gets  
You probably still adore me  
With my hands around your neck_  
~*~

“So,” Yahaba said as he snapped a folder closed and slotted it into a file cabinet’s drawer by the wall. “How did it go?”  


Oikawa stiffened from where he was reclining in his seat at the conference table. It had been three days in the Underworld since the Visit That Shall Not Be Talked About. Once he had returned to the department, storming out of the elevator in a whirl of shadows and wrath, an ugly bruise marring his left cheek, everyone had steered clear of him. No one had brought up his most recent case.  


Until now.  


“Yahaba,” he said sweetly. Threateningly. “Let’s not talk about that.”  


Despite how the lesser demon flinched, Yahaba still managed to face Oikawa with a smile of his own. “Oikawa-san, you know it’s my job to discuss all of the Contractors’ current cases-”  


“And,” Oikawa interrupted, voice light like candyfloss, “it is not my case anymore. I’ve dropped it.”  


Yahaba shut the drawer and leaned against the cabinet. “Since when?”  


“Since that insignificant little human made fun of my job and practically laughed in my face,” Oikawa spat. To his surprise, Yahaba merely sighed, lips twitching upwards.  


“You didn’t tell him you were half-incubus, did you?”  


“Wha- no! Why _would_ I?”  


“Because you tell everyone here at least twice a week?” Yahaba raised an eyebrow. Oikawa pouted at him. “But seriously, Oikawa-san, you’re giving up just because he said no?”  


Oikawa frowned. “Well, yeah. Every other case I’ve had the human immediately agrees.”  


“And why do you think that is?” Yahaba pressed.  


“Because of my charm?”  


“Yes. And why do you have that charm?”  


“Because I’m a gorgeous, charismatic demon who can give them everything they want?”  


“Almost, Oikawa-san. You have this charm that mortals love because you’re _half-incubus_ ,” Yahaba explained patiently. Oikawa tipped his head in thought. “Every other Contractor doesn’t have that – the majority of their cases take days, sometimes weeks. You’re the only one who’s managed to get a human to agree in less than an _hour_.”  


“Are you saying,” Oikawa said slowly after a moment, “that I’m only good at my job because of my genes?”  


“No!” Yahaba hurriedly backtracked. “I’m just saying that other demons have it like this the majority the time. Are you really going to give up straight away – just because this Iwaizumi Hajime said no?”  


Oikawa thought about it for a short while, fingers pressed to his lips. Yahaba blinked at him, almost anxious, as his superior abruptly stood up, flinging his chair back.  


“You’re right, Yahaba!” he beamed. “I can’t let everyone think that I’m only good at this job because I’m so handsome! I need to work for it this time!”  


“That wasn’t... really what I was trying to say,” Yahaba trailed off as Oikawa strode toward the door. “Are you going back to the human world, then?”  


“Yep! It’s been a while – maybe he’s had a chance to rethink,” Oikawa said as he donned a large, black fedora from the hat stand and slipped on his coat. He winked at Yahaba as he left. “Thanks for the support, Yahaba! I’ll make sure to write a good report for you when the year’s up!”  


Yahaba blinked, shook his head fondly as Oikawa almost skipped toward the elevators, and went back to sorting out folders.

~*~  


“Hi, Iwaizumi!” Oikawa announced his arrival the moment he appeared in the apartment. Iwaizumi, who had been reading a book on the sofa, jumped violently. “Did you miss me?”  


“Holy fucking shit,” Iwaizumi cursed, a hand against his heart as he glared up at Oikawa. He was wearing a light green jumper, one that brought out his eyes. Oikawa tried not to drool. “What the actual fuck are you doing here? _Again_?”  


“I’ve come to make you agree to sign the contract!” Oikawa let himself fall into the armchair.  


“Make me?” Iwaizumi repeated, almost amused after his initial scare. Then he added, “And the answer’s still – and always will be – no.”  


Oikawa pouted. “You haven’t even let me explain what the contract _is_.”  


“Because it’s obvious,” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “You give me anything I want in exchange for my soul, I live happily for, like, a day, and then you come back and kill me so my spirit can be sent to Hell forever.”  


“How do you know that?” Oikawa asked, momentarily sidetracked and genuinely curious. Iwaizumi nodded at the screen in the corner of the tiny room.  


“I watch a lot of TV.”  


“On that? It’s so small,” Oikawa murmured, quickly flashing a peace sign when Iwaizumi glowered at him. “Not that that’s bad, Iwa-chan! Small is good – you’re rather teeny as it is-”  


Iwaizumi’s left eye twitched before he scrunched his face up. “Did you just call me ‘ _Iwa-chan_ ’?”  


Oikawa nodded. “Uh huh. Iwaizumi is too long and formal and if I’m going to be around for a while then I might as well give you a nickname!”  


“It’s not _too long_ – wait, what do you mean by ‘a while’?”  


“I’m going to keep visiting you until you say yes!” Oikawa said happily. Also smugly; the disgusted look Iwaizumi gave him was _definitely_ worth everything that had happened last time.  


“Oh my god,” Iwaizumi muttered as he gazed down at his book in horror. “I’ve got a demon who won’t leave me alone, who calls me Iwa-chan and wears fedoras. _Oh my god_.”  


“What’s wrong with fedoras?” Oikawa asked, frowning, as he took the hat off his head and stared at it in confusion.  


Iwaizumi groaned and shoved his face into a cushion.

~*~  


“You know, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said sometime later. Iwaizumi had gone back to his book – i.e. ignoring Oikawa – and the demon had been reduced to poking around the apartment. It was a small one, with only a kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom and a lounge, but felt very much lived-in due to the various knick-knacks and objects left lying around the place. Oikawa suspected Iwaizumi was not an organised person; the cleaning from last time was probably only because it _needed_ to be done. “Being soulless isn’t actually all that bad.”  


“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Oikawa heard Iwaizumi call from the lounge. He traipsed out of the kitchen, having sorted the alphabet fridge magnets into something appropriate, and re-entered the TV room.  


“Of course I do,” he hummed as he threw himself back into the arm chair. He had taken off his fedora and coat, left them on the coat stand by the front door, and was now just wearing his usual smart shirt with the top button undone. “It’s great, really – I was here when Shogun Yoshinobu was overthrown and Emperor Meiji was restored by the _daimyo_.”  


Iwaizumi glanced at him, unimpressed. “So you know Japanese history. Congrats. But I wouldn’t get that – I’d just remain in hell until the end of time. Right?”  


Oikawa averted his eyes and Iwaizumi snorted, flipping the page of his book. The demon glanced out of the dirty window; from the looks of it, it was spring, cherry blossom trees lining the street like soldiers of nature. People were out and about, chatting to one another beneath the afternoon sun.  


“Why aren’t you outside, Iwa-chan?” he asked softly.  


“’Cause you’re here.”  


“I’ll come with you.”  


“Hell no,” Iwaizumi sneered. “You’d probably kill someone just for accidentally walking into you or something.”  


Oikawa pouted, refraining from saying how he was the only Contractor who liked his job because he got to converse with humans.  


Although right now, he wasn’t _too_ happy with his choice of occupation. For obvious reasons.  


Even though he wasn’t out in the fresh air, Iwaizumi didn’t seem as pissed off at last time. He was calm, flicking through his book as the fridge hummed in the background and the doors creaked in the breeze that floated through the open bedroom window. But it was nowhere near close to the type of contentment he was wearing when Oikawa showed up so many days ago.  


He frowned and turned away from the window. “How long ago was my first visit?”  


“About a week,” Iwaizumi mumbled, distracted. Oikawa hummed to himself.  


“Time moves so much faster here,” he murmured. When he glanced up, he found Iwaizumi watching him. “What?”  


“Nothing,” Iwaizumi ducked his head. Oikawa looked on, amused, as Iwaizumi lifted his eyes reluctantly and sighed. “Just, what – what’s it like? In Hell? For you.”  


“It’s not that bad,” Oikawa answered after a second’s pause. “Some things are just kind of... old-fashioned. We use parchment and ink instead of a printer. But, where I work, we have elevators. It’s a mix of centuries. Demons kind of like to adopt aspects from every year they’ve lived, so the Underworld is a bit of a... mishmash. We do have the entrance to Hell lit with flames, though.”  


“Why am I not surprised?” Iwaizumi said sarcastically. But Oikawa could hear the interest dripping from his voice, the fascination in his words. He smiled, one that he didn’t catch Iwaizumi blink at in surprise, and launched into tales from his fledglinghood.

~*~  


On his third visit, Iwaizumi greeted him with a half-hearted, “Go away.”  


“Mean, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa pouted. He seated himself on the armchair again and turned his attention to the TV show Iwaizumi was watching. It was some Western, paranormal thing, one that he doubted Iwaizumi would have been able to understand without the subtitles. “What are you watching?”  


“I dunno.” Iwaizumi grunted. “But it’s about demons.”  


“Oh,” Oikawa said. He settled into his chair, shucking his coat and transporting it to the coat stand with a click of his fingers. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes from where he was sprawled on the sofa.  


Ten minutes later, when one of the demon characters collapsed and black smoke exploded from their mouth, Iwaizumi spoke up. “Is that what you look like?”  


Oikawa, without taking his eyes from the screen, said, “Huh?”  


“Is that what you look like?” Iwaizumi repeated. He paused the television and Oikawa wrenched his eyes away from the screen to gaze at the human. “You know. Without your vessel.”  


“My vessel...” Oikawa repeated. Then he realised what Iwaizumi meant. “Oh! No, this is – this is actually me. One hundred percent genuine, authentic Oikawa Tooru. I’m not wearing someone else’s body or anything.”  


Iwaizumi squinted in distrust. “Uh huh... so do you have any, like, features that mark you as a demon then?”  


“Not really...” Oikawa tilted his head in thought. “My nails can become super sharp, I guess... and I’ve got this mark, I suppose you would call it a birthmark, in the shape of the devil’s pitchfork. But none of the other demons have anything like that so I wouldn’t exactly class it as something.”  


“Can I see it?” Iwaizumi asked, intrigued. Oikawa stiffened and laughed nervously.  


“Ah, no. It’s a bit, um... yeah, no.”  


Oikawa was afraid Iwaizumi would ask why he refused but, to his relief, the human merely grunted in assent and pressed play on the remote.  


“Are there any specific type of demons?” Iwaizumi asked some time later, when the supposed ‘king of Hell’ came on screen.  


“No,” Oikawa answered. “Everyone is just a demon. Well,” he added as an afterthought, “I’m half-incubus, if that counts for a difference.”  


“You’re half-incubus?” Iwaizumi inquired, almost incredulous. Oikawa nodded. “Huh. Makes sense.”  


“What does _that_ mean?” Oikawa asked. He swivelled his gaze from the television to Iwaizumi when the human didn’t answer.  


“Nothing,” Iwaizumi responded. His cheeks were slightly red and his eyes were fixed on the screen.  


Oikawa shrugged. “Anyway, we don’t have a king or a leader. It all depends on where you work – every area has a superior. A boss.”  


“What areas are there?”  


“Well, there’s Contractors, obviously. Within that field you’ve got those that are the actual Contractors and the ones that do the behind the scene stuff – they figure out which humans would say yes to a deal and sort out all the paperwork.” He didn’t mention the Exterminators; the mere thought of them made nausea churn in his stomach. He sensed that it would have caused a _massive_ step back in their acquaintanceship.  


“I suppose that job’s rather popular, huh?” Iwaizumi said ironically.  


“No, actually. Most demons hate humans.”  


“Well that’s nothing new,” Iwaizumi gestured at the screen and cocked an eyebrow at Oikawa. “How come you became a Contractor then?”  


Oikawa shrugged. “Humans just... interest me. Everything about how you work – your morals, your societies, your food and seasons and fashion – is just so _fascinating_.”  


Iwaizumi gazed at him blankly. Oikawa felt his stomach twist; for some reason, he really didn’t want Iwaizumi to judge him.  


“You’re such a weirdo,” Iwaizumi said. His voice was soft, not the harsh tone Oikawa had been expecting.  


For some reason it made his cheeks warm. “Maybe,” he agreed, and the two went back to watching the television show.  


“D’you think,” Iwaizumi said suddenly, some time later. The sky was beginning to darken into crimson; it seeped through the windows and painted Iwaizumi in fiery reds as Oikawa turned to him, “that there’s a way for a contract to never be completed?”  


Oikawa thought about it. “No,” he said honestly. “Only if the deal put in place is something that stops the demon from leaving. Because if they can’t leave, they can’t take the soul.”  


“That sounds awful,” Iwaizumi wrinkled his nose. “Who’d want to be stuck with a demon twenty-four seven? Can’t the deal just be, I dunno, you not taking my soul at all?”  


Oikawa rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t work that way, Iwa-chan. We choose humans for contracts based on their yearly income, where they live and whether they’re single or not. If they aren’t happy with their lives because of these three things, we offer them a deal - since they’re the least likely to say no to it. It’s a quick, easy way of getting our life-force.”  


“And of course I fulfil all of them,” Iwaizumi said sarcastically. He lifted an eyebrow at Oikawa. “If you still think I’m going to say yes you’ve got a long time coming, y’know.”  


Oikawa stuck his tongue out. “I _can_ be patient, I think you’ll find,” he said, although inwardly he thought _I don’t mind waiting_.  


~*~  


By Oikawa’s sixth visit, he and Iwaizumi had formed an almost friendship.  


It was strange, to say the least. Being friends with a human; Iwaizumi had none of the cynical, cutting sarcasm of the demons. He was rough and rude, and he swore a lot, but Oikawa found it peculiarly refreshing.  


He also wasn’t afraid to point out any of Oikawa’s bullshit. Like when, during his seventh visit, Oikawa was complaining about an old intern he had to personally train.  


“He was just so _smug_ , Iwa-chan,” Oikawa complained. It was a Thursday night, four human days since his last visit, right in the middle of summer; rain splattered the kitchen windows with gusto. “He followed me around while I did my cases and asked for me to teach him – I don’t know _why_ , he was only an intern, it should have taken him another eon or so before he became a Contractor – and then guess what he did. Guess what he did, Iwa-chan.”  


“I dunno, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi grunted as he added curry roux to his stir-fried meat. He put the curry on high and set a timer, then wiped his hands on a towel. “If you’re gonna gossip at me, you could at least fill a pot with water. You know how to cook udon, right?”  


“Of course,” Oikawa sniffed. He did as asked, remaining silent until Iwaizumi spoke up again.  


“So what did he do?”  


“Who – oh!” he exclaimed as Iwaizumi stirred the curry. “You’re not gonna believe it, Iwa-chan. He took the case Yahaba – the guy who gives everyone their cases – had left out for me and went and _visited the human. Alone_. He wasn’t even qualified and he just-”  


“Well, if you refused to teach him anything, he probably thought he’d take the matter into his own hands,” Iwaizumi pursed his lips as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “Watch the udon, they’re only meant to be boiled for two or three minutes.”  


“Iwa-chan, I told you, I know what I’m doing,” Oikawa huffed. “And really? You’re on _his_ side?”  


“Right. And no, not exactly, I’m just saying you sound like a really shitty senior employee.”  


“Iwa-chan, you wound me,” Oikawa pouted as he drained the noodles. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, stirring the curry once more. He checked the timer. “The only good thing was that he failed on the case and I had to do it. _But_ , he got merit for his ‘initiative’ and was taken to be trained under someone even higher than me!”  


“What a shame,” Iwaizumi muttered. He glanced at Oikawa. “You’re staying for this, right? I’ve made enough for two and then some.”  


“Uh, sure,” at the weird look he got Oikawa shrugged. “I’ve never actually had human food before, y’know.”  


“What?” Iwaizumi asked, incredulous, as the timer went off. He added soy sauce to the curry as he spoke. “You’re able to cook – okay, barely – but you’ve never eaten anything before?”  


“I can cook fine, thank you very much,” Oikawa retorted. “And yeah, I know _how_ to cook and everything, I’ve just never needed to.”  


“Huh.” Iwaizumi said. He nodded at Oikawa. “Do you want to get two bowls out, then?”  


They ate udon curry that night, at the small, rickety table in the kitchen, listening to the rain patter against the apartment. Iwaizumi was only wearing shorts, due to the humidity; his bare legs kept brushing against Oikawa’s calves.  


The food was nice, if slightly bland – but that was probably because Oikawa kept getting distracted.

~*~  


_You’re my manna from heaven  
We all gotta get fed  
Can let me know I’m wanted  
Can let me in your head  
_

~*~  


“What do you actually do, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa enquired during his twelfth visit. It was October now and while it was not as hot as it was the last few human months, the mortal world was still rather warm. Or, at least, it was where Iwaizumi lived – Naha, the capital city of Okinawa, according to Iwaizumi’s profile.  


“For what?” Iwaizumi responded. He was reading another book again, a dog-eared coffee-stained thing that had Iwaizumi shaking his head in amusement every now and then.  


“As a living.” Oikawa reiterated. “Every time I come here you’re always here, too, but you’ve got to have _some_ kind of job-”  


“Are you saying you’d visit if I wasn’t here?” Iwaizumi joked, raising his eyes from the page. “But anyway, yeah. I do have a job.”  


“What is it?” Oikawa leaned forward, his interest piqued.  


“You won’t like it,” Iwaizumi replied, but as Oikawa wouldn’t shut up he eventually sighed and dropped the book onto his chest. “I’m a photographer.”  


Oikawa blinked. He leaned back in the armchair. “A what?”  


“A photographer. I take photographs of people. Of things. Business has just been a bit tight lately, since I’ve only had a few commissions. It’s why I’m living in this dump and not somewhere else-”  


“Wait,” Oikawa interrupted. Iwaizumi stared at him, unimpressed, although his eyes widened at Oikawa’s next words. “What’s a photograph?”  


Which was how, half an hour later, found Oikawa with a battered old thing Iwaizumi called a ‘polaroid camera’ in his hands, and Iwaizumi as close as he’d ever been as he instructed Oikawa on what button did what.  


“Do you think demons show up on camera?” Iwaizumi joked. In retaliation Oikawa lifted the camera up to his face and, pushing down where Iwaizumi had just shown him, snapped a photograph.  


There was a bright flash – one that reminded Oikawa of a soul leaving their body – and he lowered the device. Iwaizumi reached up to rub at his eyes.  


“Oi, asshole, what the-”  


Oikawa shushed Iwaizumi as the polaroid began to spit out a photograph. It took a few minutes, due to how old the camera was, but soon enough Oikawa was holding a seemingly empty photograph between two fingers.  


He frowned. “Where’s the photograph?” he asked as he glanced up. The sight that met him made his entire being tremble; Iwaizumi was smiling softly, the usual scowl and furrowed-eyebrows nowhere in sight. It was the fondest look Oikawa had ever received.  


“Just give it a minute,” Iwaizumi said. Even his voice was soft. Oikawa nodded dumbly and directed his gaze back to the photograph in his hand, ignoring how warm his skin was and how close abruptly felt too-close.  


Oikawa watched, only half paying attention, as the photograph seemingly emerged from the white card. It made him think of the mortal stars, how they would gleam brightly like silver threads once the sky had faded to the bruise of black and blue.  


The photograph, though – the photograph _completely_ caught his interest once it was fully created. It made his deadened, burnt heart skip a feeble beat.  


It was slightly blurred, most likely due to how Oikawa was still moving when he took the photograph. But its subject was still very, very clear.  


Iwaizumi smiled out at Oikawa from the image. Well, it wasn’t exactly a smile; it was more of a quirk of the lips, something sarcastic. His eyes were creased, fragments of those lovely irises snagging Oikawa’s gaze even on paper. One of Iwaizumi’s eyebrows was arched and a hand was lifted, fuzzy with movement, toward the camera. It was the face of a man with a retort on his tongue; it was the face of a man who was about to break into laughter.  


Oikawa saw all of this. He also saw how the sunlight drifted through the bedroom window, curling across Iwaizumi’s cheekbone and staining his skin with summer. He saw the freckles splashed across the bridge of Iwaizumi’s nose, the dimple on the right side of his mouth. How his hair was messily spiked and darker than ebony, seemingly smudged into the background, although the strands nearest the sun were almost blue. He saw the lavender crescents beneath Iwaizumi’s eyes and the small scar on his jawline and how his eyelashes were flecks of gold, and thought, _he’s gorgeous_.  


“Did it come out alright, then?” Iwaizumi broke Oikawa out of his dangerous thoughts. He leaned forward and pried the image from Oikawa’s fingers; the demon had to shove down the urge to snatch it back. Iwaizumi made a noise. “Wow, I look like shit.”  


“No you don’t,” Oikawa replied, a bit too quickly. “You look – you look great.”  


Iwaizumi snorted. “Yeah, okay. If you think this is great, you should look in the mirror every now and then,” he made to drop the photograph in the bin and Oikawa grabbed his arm, the comment completely bypassing him.  


“Wait!” he almost yelled. “I wanna – can I, um, can I keep it?”  


Iwaizumi made a face at him. “Really? This one? Why don’t you take another one of, I dunno, the sky or-”  


“No!” Oikawa tried to calm himself down. Iwaizumi’s tanned skin looked even darker encased in the pale grip of his hand. “Iwa-chan, this one was the first I’ve ever took. It’d be, y’know, nice if I could keep it.”  


“Yeah, okay,” Iwaizumi shrugged and, to Oikawa’s relief, pinned the photograph to the otherwise-empty clothesline above the bed with a wooden peg. “Just leave it on there to dry for a bit, though.”  


Oikawa nodded and brushed his thumb over the shutter of the camera. “Can I take another one?” he asked eagerly.  


To his disappointment, Iwaizumi laughed and shook his head. “Not of me. I’m not very photogenic, as you’ve probably seen.”  


Oikawa wanted to argue but then Iwaizumi was gently lifting another camera out of the bedside table’s drawer, one much bigger and glossier.  


“But you are,” he said, eyes trailing up and down Oikawa’s form. “Why don’t we find out if demons show up on film or not, huh?”

~*~  


Yahaba blinked at the bright light that seared through his eyeballs. For a panicked second he believed the souls had escaped from their prisons; to his relief, when the flash faded, it was only Oikawa.  


Yahaba rubbed at his face from where he was seated at the conference table, flipping through the folders of completed cases. “What are you doing, Oikawa-san?”  


“He’s taking photographs,” Kunimi answered from his post at the water cooler. Yahaba briefly thought back to the last time he had been anywhere but, and found he couldn’t. “Of everyone.”  


Sure enough Oikawa held a large, vintage-looking device in his hands. He peeled the photo it had just spewed out from the bottom of the camera and laid it on the conference table.  


“Kunimi-chan’s right!” Oikawa beamed as he threw himself into a chair. He brought the camera back up to his face and Yahaba barely resisted the urge to shield his own. “Iwa-chan gave it to me. Said I could keep it, since it’s so old.”  


“And by Iwa-chan you mean the human from that case of yours?” Yahaba raised an eyebrow. Oikawa nodded absent-mindedly as he snapped a picture of Kunimi’s spiritless expression. Yahaba sighed. “Oikawa-san, how long ago were you given this case?”  


“In human time it was about seven months,” Oikawa responded cheerfully.  


“And you don’t think you’ve spent too long on it?” Yahaba coaxed. “You don’t think you should have made more progress than... this?”  


Oikawa shifted, the smile slipping from his face. “You’re right,” he said eventually, despite the hole the words dug in his chest. He realised they seemed to just make it deeper; the hole had been drilled into him after the third visit, and even though he hadn’t paid any attention to it, it had been growing ever since. “I need to do my job. I got distracted.”  


He took a deep breath. “For that I’m sorry, Yahaba.”  


Yahaba started. “You-You don’t have to apologise, Oikawa-san, I was only-”  


Oikawa raised a hand and stood up, grasping the camera loosely. He slipped both polaroids into the pocket of his slacks. “You’ll be a good Contractor one day,” he told Yahaba as he left. “It might not be soon, but I really think you’ll excel at it once you’re promoted.”  


Oikawa closed the door after him, leaving an astounded Yahaba and a bored Kunimi in the conference room.

~*~  


Oikawa meant to bring up the contract with Iwaizumi again. He really, really did.  


The only problem was that when he arrived outside Iwaizumi’s front door and knocked, as he had taken to doing since the sixth visit, he was greeted by loud laughter and calls the moment the door opened.  


Iwaizumi gaped at Oikawa in surprise. “Oikawa, what are you-?”  


“Is this a bad time?” Oikawa asked. His voice drifted through the apartment unintentionally, catching the attention of whoever else was in it.  


“Who is it, Iwaizumi?”  


“Just – just some guy,” Iwaizumi called over his shoulder. Oikawa wondered why he felt ill at the words.  


“Bring him in!”  


Another voice joined. “Hey, it’s not the same as that other ‘some guy’ you were telling us about earlier-”  


“Both of you can shut the hell up!” Iwaizumi shouted. Laughter erupted from the direction of the living room as Iwaizumi sighed and beckoned Oikawa inside. He lowered his tone, “You might as well come in then. Just _try_ and act like a normal human, would you?”  


Oikawa pouted as he toed off his shoes and hung his coat on the stand. “Iwa-chan, who do you take me for?”  


“Oh, I don’t know, a demon?” Iwaizumi muttered sarcastically. He arched an eyebrow at the camera in Oikawa’s hand. “Why’d you bring that back? You know you can keep it, right? If it doesn’t work anymore then you just need some film. I’ll give you it later, though, after Hanamaki and Matsukawa have left.”  


“Ah,” was all Oikawa said. He placed the camera on the decorative table by the coat stand and followed Iwaizumi into the living room.  


Two men were lounging on the carpet by the sofa, gaming controllers clutched loosely in their hands. They immediately looked up as Oikawa and Iwaizumi walked in.  


“Guys, this is Oikawa. Oikawa, that’s Hanamaki,” he jerked a thumb at the brown-haired man who merely lifted his hand in a sombre peace sign, “and that’s Matsukawa.” The other man, who had a head of unruly black hair and whose eyebrows were _ever_ so slightly intimidating, gave a wave. “Otherwise known as pains in my ass.”  


“Iwaizumi, I didn’t know you wanted to take our relationship to the next level,” Hanamaki quipped with a small smirk. He glanced at Oikawa. “So this is him, then?”  


Iwaizumi threw himself down on the sofa, patting the seat next to him; Oikawa gingerly sat down, confused by Hanamaki’s words. And unnerved; this was the first time he had ever met humans he wouldn’t offer a contract to. “This is who?” he asked.  


“The man in all of those recent polaroids dear Iwaizumi took,” Matsukawa spoke. His voice was a lazy drawl, bordering on sarcastic, although it still managed to achieve its desired effect as Iwaizumi coughed into his fist.  


“We’re not going to talk about them,” Iwaizumi said. Oikawa watched with awe as Iwaizumi’s cheeks reddened.  


“Why not? I think we should,” Hanamaki shot back. He met Oikawa’s eyes. “What do you think, Oikawa? About those photos?”  


Oikawa shrugged. “They’re photographs,” he said uselessly. “I didn’t think there was any possible meaning behind them.”  


“He’s never offered to photograph either of _us_ before,” Matsukawa pointed out. Iwaizumi kicked the back of his head. “Bit... _strange_ , isn’t it?”  


“Photograph me like one of your French girls, jack,” Hanamaki muttered beneath his breath in almost clear English. Oikawa wondered how he knew that quote as Iwaizumi whacked him over the head with a cushion.  


“Are we going to play Mario Kart or not?” Iwaizumi asked, almost distressed. He looked at Oikawa, although he couldn’t _quite_ meet the demon’s eyes. “D’you wanna play, too, Oikawa?”  


“Oh, he wants to _play_ alright,” Hanamaki muttered, winking at Oikawa, who felt increasingly confused with every moment.  


“Matsukawa, get him a controller,” Iwaizumi gritted out as he glared at Hanamaki. Matsukawa passed Oikawa a controller, as asked, and then it was silent for a few seconds as Iwaizumi scrolled through the menu.  


“So, Oikawa,” Hanamaki began, loudly, “how long have you let Iwaizumi thirst over you for?”  


“Shut up!” Iwaizumi exclaimed, laughing in disbelief, and, although Oikawa didn’t understand the phrase, he found himself chuckling anyway. He had never seen Iwaizumi like this, all flushed cheeks and nervous laughter. It was cute.

~*~  


“You didn’t listen to any of what Hanamaki and Matsukawa said, did you?” Iwaizumi inquired a few hours later. He seemed almost anxious. “About the photographs?”  


“Oh, that,” Oikawa shook his head. He had forgotten about the conversation as the night drew on; it appeared that he was _extremely_ competitive at video games. Even Hanamaki, who had an ongoing rivalry with Iwaizumi, had to admit he was pretty good. “No. I didn’t think it meant anything, to be honest.”  


“It didn’t,” Iwaizumi quickly responded, and Oikawa wondered if maybe it did. They were in the kitchen of Iwaizumi’s apartment, the bulbs above glowering down at them. Hanamaki and Matsukawa had left around ten minutes ago, winking and nudging Oikawa on their way out. Oikawa had made a mental note to buy a guide on human phrases and actions, because why did ‘have fun’ require an indecent hand gesture as well? “So what did you think of Hanamaki and Matsukawa, then?”  


“They’re fun,” Oikawa said, genuinely smiling. They had joined in when he made fun of Iwaizumi, and had mocked him in return, but they were clearly the type of people who didn’t mean anything by their words.  


“Ah. Good,” for some reason, Iwaizumi looked relieved. And slightly lost. He blinked and seemed to remember something. “So how come you came over, then?”  


“Oh,” Oikawa’s smiled dropped. He pushed his fingers together and averted his eyes, wishing he could swallow down what he was about to say. “I think we should talk.”  


“About?” Iwaizumi asked absent-mindedly as he stuck a dirty plate in the dishwasher.  


“The, uh, the contract,” Oikawa blurted after what seemed like a very long silence. Iwaizumi shut the dishwasher door and straightened up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.  


“What contra- oh,” he said. His voice grew quiet on the last syllable. The silence hung between them, thick and heavy like fog.  


“Yeah, I, uh, just thought we should talk about it,” Oikawa quickly continued. He wrung his hands. “I know I haven’t brought up in a while, but-”  


“A while? It’s been almost seven months!” Iwaizumi’s voice shook as it rose in volume. “I thought... Oikawa, I thought we were _friends_.”  


Oikawa felt his throat constrict. “We are, I just, I don’t know what to do – I don’t know what happens if I don’t complete this case – someone else might take it and I don’t – I don’t want anyone else near you, I don’t-”  


“Well it seems like you’re only giving me one choice!” Iwaizumi yelled. “It’s agree to your terms or have someone else rip my soul out of my fucking body, yeah? Either way I end up dead!”  


“I’m sorry, okay?!” Oikawa shouted back, his frustration taking over. He and Iwaizumi were centimetres away now, the scant space between them abundant with tension. “I don’t know what to do – this is all so messed up-”  


“You’re telling me!” Iwaizumi exclaimed, his voice cracking with despair. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and groaned.  


A short while passed, in which Oikawa bit at his knuckles, before Iwaizumi abruptly stiffened. He glanced back up, slowly; his eyes were alight with something that made Oikawa’s blood burn in his veins. “What if... what if I say yes?”  


“You’ll die, Iwaizumi, you said it yourself-”  


“No, Oikawa, listen to me.” Iwaizumi gazed at Oikawa with determination and a heat that sliced down Oikawa’s spine like lightning. “What if I say yes and ask for something that won’t allow you to leave?”  


“Like what?” Oikawa croaked, his hand dropping back to his side. He remembered a conversation in a flash, aided by Iwaizumi’s words; _Because if they can’t leave, they can’t take the soul_ , he had said. Somehow his dead heart leapt in his chest and his pulse began to pick up, beating wildly in his ears.  


Was Iwaizumi asking for him to _stay_? Was he…?  


Oikawa dimly realised the ambiance had changed, from wretchedness to... something else. Something almost _lustful_.  


The tension only escalated as Iwaizumi stepped closer, so, so much closer, and dragged his hand up Oikawa’s hip, knuckles skimming his flesh.  


“You,” Iwaizumi breathed. His breath was hot as it drifted over Oikawa’s neck. “For ever.”  


Oikawa’s throat hitched and Iwaizumi’s eyes followed the movement. They were wide; his mouth parted as he licked his bottom lip, seemingly nervous. His palm was an open flame against Oikawa’s skin.  


“Deal,” he rasped.  


Iwaizumi grinned, low and feral, although there was a touch of solace to the slow curl of his mouth. And then he shifted forward and they were kissing and Oikawa’s mind short-circuited.  


Despite being alive for hundreds of years, Oikawa had never been kissed. In fact, he had never had a romantic partner, not even during the stage between fledgling and demon. He was completely, entirely, inexperienced.  


So he could not be blamed for when, the moment their lips touched, he gasped and grabbed at Iwaizumi’s shoulders. The press of warmth, of someone else, was so new and strange that his head spun.  


Iwaizumi moved away after a moment and Oikawa felt a loss pang in his stomach, although it morphed into a whimper when Iwaizumi chuckled and mouthed at his neck. “For a half-incubus,” he murmured huskily, “you’re not very good at this, are you?”  


Oikawa growled at that and tugged Iwaizumi back up to kiss him, framing his face with his hands. It was messy, all teeth and tongue and spit, but Iwaizumi seemed to like it; still kissing, he propelled Oikawa backwards until the small of his spine met the edge of a countertop.  


Iwaizumi ducked down slightly and suddenly his hands were on the back of Oikawa’s thighs, hot and searing through the fabric of his slacks. He lifted Oikawa up and onto the countertop, Oikawa unsteadily shuffling backwards and opening his legs so Iwaizumi could fit between them, hands tremulously sliding around Iwaizumi’s shoulders.  


“Fuck,” Iwaizumi breathed harshly as he kissed along Oikawa’s jaw. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”  


I could – take a stab in the dark,” Oikawa panted, letting his head tilt back. His hands never stilled, roving over Iwaizumi’s biceps and neck; he just wanted to touch and taste and _never let go_.  


When Iwaizumi bit against the pulse point of his throat Oikawa’s head dropped back completely and he keened, hands fisting in the fabric of Iwaizumi’s t-shirt. The recognisable sound of bulbs exploding filled his ears.  


“Is that gonna become a regular thing with you?” Iwaizumi mumbled as he licked the skin he just marred. Oikawa tried to breathe as he scrunched his eyes shut.  


“If this does,” he wheezed, “then yes.”  


“Oh trust me,” Iwaizumi said as he leaned back. Oikawa reluctantly tipped his head forward to gaze at Iwaizumi in bewilderment as to why he suddenly stopped; the bewilderment became arousal when Iwaizumi’s fingers caught the hem of his shirt and began to flip the buttons undone. Iwaizumi’s eyes were shining in the darkness with a need Oikawa had never seen before. “It will.”  


Oikawa watched in awe as Iwaizumi deftly unbuttoned his shirt, only slightly jealous with how easy he did it. But the jealousy quickly faded when Iwaizumi pulled the shirt from his shoulders, letting it drift around his elbows; Oikawa gasped as Iwaizumi’s hands ran up his bare chest appreciatively, brushing over his nipples.  


“Iwa-chan,” he ground out as he arched into the touch. Iwaizumi’s gaze was heavy with lust, with desire, and it was all _so much_. “Iwa-chan, please.”  


“What do you want?” Iwaizumi murmured as he pressed his thumbs against Oikawa’s buds; the demon shuddered, eyes rolling back. “What do you want me to do to you?”  


Oikawa widened his legs even further. “ _Please_ ,” he breathed wildly, feeling as though he might explode.  


Iwaizumi cursed beneath his breath, pulling away again. Oikawa reached out to grab him, blind with need, but Iwaizumi took hold of his wrists, serious.  


“Oikawa,” he said gravelly. Even just his _name_ made Oikawa want to writhe and buck up. “What is it you want me to do to you?”  


For a moment Oikawa was confused – Iwaizumi had just asked him this, hadn’t he? – but then he realised, as the mist in his brain slowly cleared, that he was asking for consent.  


“I want... I want you to...” Oikawa struggled to word the feeling engulfing him. He didn’t know human terms; he just knew he wanted heat and pleasure and to be as close as possible to Iwaizumi.  


In the end Oikawa gave up and resorted to making the coarse gesture Hanamaki had earlier. He was desperate; he was expecting Iwaizumi to understand, or at least get the hint.  


He wasn’t expecting to be _laughed_ at.  


“Oh my god,” Iwaizumi chortled as he burrowed his face in Oikawa’s neck. “Oh my god did you just – did you actually just-”  


He dissolved into giggles once more. Oikawa, impatient, perplexed Oikawa, pinched Iwaizumi’s ribs.  


“Ow, you dick, there’s no need to hurt me-”  


“Well why are you laughing at me?” Oikawa didn’t understand. At all. Iwaizumi hiccupped and removed his face from Oikawa’s collarbone, wiping at his eyes.  


“So you-” he wheezed, “you want me to-”  


Iwaizumi collapsed into laughter once more. Oikawa frowned, his anger and embarrassment growing.  


“Iwa-chan, I swear to Hell if you don’t shut up right now I’m gonna go back on this deal-”  


“No, don’t, I just,” Iwaizumi chuckled, “I just can’t believe you made that gesture. Do you even know what it means?”  


Oikawa stared at him. “It’s what I want,” he said, and Iwaizumi fell silent.  


“Oh.” He said. Oikawa felt that they were _finally_ getting somewhere. “You – you want me to fuck you?”  


_Fuck_.  


Oikawa mused over the word. He had heard Iwaizumi use it to curse on multiple occasions before, whether that be in pain or pleasure, but he had never heard it described as a sexual activity. But... he mouthed the word. _Fuck_. It sat lewdly on his tongue and brought images that made his groin ache weirdly and... _yes_ , he decided. It was _definitely_ what he wanted.  


“Yes,” he said aloud. “I want the fuck.”  


Iwaizumi gazed at him, face blank. He laughed once, a short loud ‘ha!’ that made Oikawa jump. And then he was in hysterics again, cackling, tears forming in the corner of his eyes.  


“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cried. “Stop laughing at me – I’m sorry if I don’t know your dumb, vulgar language-”  


“No, it’s,” Iwaizumi calmed down, much faster than before. He probably sensed how thin Oikawa’s patience was wearing, “it’s ‘to’ fuck. Not ‘the’ fuck.”  


“Oh.” Oikawa said. “I want to fuck, Iwa-chan.” What Iwaizumi said moments earlier rang in his mind and he spoke, slowly; “I want you to fuck me.”  


Iwaizumi heaved in a breath, all traces of humour gone. “Fuck,” he said, then giggled. It was a nervous one, though, so Oikawa let him get away with it. “It sounds so much... _hotter_ when you say it.”  


Oikawa tipped his head to the side invitingly. “I want you to fuck me, Iwa-chan,” he purred as he curled his fingers through Iwaizumi’s belt loops and dragged the human up against him. He whispered in Iwaizumi’s ear, “please.”  


Iwaizumi gulped as he drew away, although he left his hands planted on Oikawa’s hips. “You sure?”  


Oikawa nodded, excitement gleaming in his eyes. Iwaizumi leaned forward to kiss him, and it started off slow but then Iwaizumi’s tongue was in his mouth and everything just... span out of control.  


“Bedroom,” Iwaizumi gasped when Oikawa began to mouth his way down his neck. Oikawa murmured his assent as he kissed Iwaizumi’s slick skin; when he was abruptly airborne he yelped and clutched at the human.  


Within a minute he was being laid down on Iwaizumi’s bed, the scent of coffee and ink assaulting him. Iwaizumi ignored the light switch as he crawled on top of Oikawa, who wasn’t about to complain – especially when Iwaizumi grinded their crotches together. Oikawa’s back arched and he hauled Iwaizumi down, sliding their lips together clumsily as his hands fisted the fabric of Iwaizumi’s shirt.  


“Get this off,” he panted against Iwaizumi’s mouth, skimming his fingers along the waistband of Iwaizumi’s shorts as the human sat up and tugged off his shirt. Oikawa could see, in the dimness, the toned muscles of his abdomen before Iwaizumi ducked down to kiss him once more. The demon’s hands roamed approvingly over his chest – although they drew to a halt when Iwaizumi slid a hand down Oikawa’s own torso and palmed his cock through his slacks.  


Oikawa sucked in a breath. Pleasure sparked in his gut, one that seeped into his bones, as Iwaizumi bit and licked at his ear. “Fuck,” he got out, voice ragged. Iwaizumi chuckled. The sound reverberated deep in Oikawa’s head.  


“Is that good, baby?” he asked, voice hushed, and Oikawa moaned as Iwaizumi’s pace sped up. Oikawa’s cheeks flushed at the noise.  


“I-yeah,” he choked out. “Fuck, Iwa-chan, get these off already-”  


Iwaizumi laughed lowly as he dragged the zip of Oikawa’s slacks down. “Anything you want.”  


Oikawa shuddered as Iwaizumi’s hands ghosted along his thighs. He kicked the slacks off once they were at his ankles and trembled eagerly when Iwaizumi tugged at his boxers.  


“Iwa-chan,” he said as Iwaizumi slipped the boxers off of his feet.  


“Iwa-chan,” he said as Iwaizumi kissed his way back up Oikawa’s legs, sucking a bruise into the tender flesh of his upper thigh.  


“ _Iwa-chan_ ,” he said as Iwaizumi curled his hand around his length and dragged friction up it.  


“I’ve got you,” Iwaizumi murmured as his hand pumped up and down, eyes never leaving the sight below him; Oikawa, eyes squeezed together as his mouth lolled open, a silent moan, hair fanned across the pillow. His skin was slick with sweat and he was thrusting into every one of Iwaizumi’s strokes.  


He was _beautiful_.  


“I thought-” Oikawa panted, pausing to lick his lips, “I thought we were going to fuck, Iwa-chan, can’t we-”  


“Someone’s eager,” Iwaizumi grinned. The sight made Oikawa’s toes curl; all of this was so new, so different, that every slight bit of stimulation caused intense shocks of pleasures to ignite within him. “And yeah, we are.”  


And then, without further ado, he shifted further down the bed, hauled Oikawa’s legs onto each of his shoulders, and licked across Oikawa’s hole.  


“I-Iwa-chan, what the-” Oikawa had to bite his lip to stop the weird sounds that wanted to escape him. He was squirming, unable to remain motionless from Iwaizumi’s tongue being somewhere so _private_.  


Iwaizumi’s arms tightened around his thighs, keeping him still as he eased his tongue into Oikawa; the demon whined and scrabbled at the sheets, unsure of what to make of the sensation.  


“What are you – _oh_ ,” he gasped as Iwaizumi thrust in and out of him, his wet tongue sliding along Oikawa’s walls. “Oh, Iwa-chan, don’t – don’t stop, _please_ , don’t stop, don’t _stop_ -”  


Oikawa flung his head back, panting, and shoved down on Iwaizumi’s tongue. He felt like he was about to burst into flames, like the mortal stars once their fuel has been used up. Everything was hot and wet and too much, _way_ too much; he was going to die or collapse or _something_ -  


Unexpectedly Iwaizumi pulled out, leaving Oikawa feeling strangely empty. The pleasurable sensation disappeared with Iwaizumi, only the smoking embers of it remaining in Oikawa’s stomach.  


“Iwa-chan,” he moaned, for something to do. Iwaizumi grasped Oikawa’s thigh comfortingly, massaging the skin, before his fingers shifted upwards to stroke _just_ where his thigh met his groin. Oikawa whimpered.  


“Oikawa... what’s this?” Iwaizumi asked, voice rough. Oikawa jerkily wrenched his head up, blinking blearily at the human. His eyes widened; Iwaizumi was touching that mark he had told him about ages ago.  


“Ah,” he said. “It’s that... that thing I told you about.”  


“The pitchfork?” Iwaizumi murmured. He leaned in closer. “It kinda does look like one.”  


Oikawa nodded, unsure of what to say. He was immensely surprised when Iwaizumi bit down on the mark, teeth scraping across the skin. “I-ah, fuck.”  


Iwaizumi soothed the area with his tongue and he glanced up, eyes meeting Oikawa’s. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of it, you know.”  


“Okay,” Oikawa readily agreed. Iwaizumi huffed a laugh and crawled upwards, leaning over Oikawa to rifle in the drawer of the bedside table. “What are-?”  


“Lube,” Iwaizumi said immediately. He produced a bottle of a gel-like substance and offered it to an intrigued Oikawa. “We’re gonna need it if we want to have sex. You still want to, right?”  


Oikawa nodded, his pulse picking up a fraction. He handed back the bottle. “So what’s... what’s going to happen?”  


“Well,” Iwaizumi began. He remained straddling Oikawa’s thighs as he uncapped the lube and poured a generous amount onto his fingers, “for me to even be able to get my dick in you, I need to stretch your ass. With my fingers, since I doubt my tongue was enough. It’ll feel weird at first and will most likely hurt – so if you ever want to stop just tell me, yeah?”  


Oikawa looked at him, at the bare fondness and concern wholly unveiled in Iwaizumi’s eyes. He knew, in that moment, that this night was not just because of their deal.  


He also knew that it wouldn’t be the last time it would happen.  


“Is Iwa-chan scared of hurting me?” he teased, instead of the sappy response he wanted to say. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes.  


“Of course I am,” he said. Oikawa’s playfulness disappeared. “Just ‘cause you’re a demon doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you. I doubt you’ve got the magical ability to stretch your ass yourself or something.”  


Oikawa pursed his lips in thought. “I might,” he said. It’s not like he had actually tried to find _out_.  


Iwaizumi shook his head, chuckling, and slid back down the bed. He pressed the tip of his lubricated index finger to Oikawa; the demon shivered at the pressure. “You ready?”  


“Yeah,” Oikawa breathed. He inhaled sharply as Iwaizumi’s finger slowly pushed into him, the sensation entirely and completely new; his forehead scrunched up and his mouth hung open slightly. He didn’t know whether to describe it as just uncomfortable or painful.  


“Everything good?” Iwaizumi asked when he had gotten up to the first knuckle. Oikawa nodded, his expression having relaxed as he grew accustomed to the feeling. It warped into something else entirely when Iwaizumi began to thrust his finger, the digit sliding in and out of his heat; it was strange, the twinge of pain every time Iwaizumi plunged his finger into him, the almost-itch it triggered low in his stomach.  


Time passed – Oikawa wasn’t sure how long – but the pang of discomfort faded away and, on Iwaizumi’s next thrust, Oikawa trembled with pleasure.  


“Iwa-chan,” he murmured, sucking in a sharp breath when the next push went deeper.  


“Yeah?” Iwaizumi said, a reassuring hand spread along Oikawa’s right thigh. His voice was gruff. “You ready for the next finger?”  


Oikawa nodded, too breathless to say anything, and then there was another finger inside him and the minor burn of the stretch made his eyes snap shut  


“Hey, hey, look at me,” Iwaizumi said soothingly. “Look at me, Oikawa.”  


The demon grudgingly raised his head as he panted. Iwaizumi gazed back at him, Oikawa’s legs on his shoulders, lips red and spit-slicked, hair a tousled mess.  


“We can go as slow as you want,” he said. “I won’t move until you tell me to. You’re in control. Okay?”  


Oikawa nodded. “’Kay,” he said weakly, and let his head drop back against the pillow.  


He grew used to the feeling of two fingers inside him quicker than one, and it wasn’t long before he was telling Iwaizumi to do something. Iwaizumi stretched him, his digits deftly widening Oikawa’s hole, and it was the best sensation Oikawa had ever had. And then two became three and it was even better.  


“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa panted, hands scrabbling for purchase in the sheets. He was shoving down on Iwaizumi’s digits the best he could, chest heaving erratically, mouth wide and wanting.  


And then Iwaizumi curled his fingers. Once. Twice.  


He did it a third time and Oikawa wondered what he was doing, but then they bumped against something inside him and he didn’t care anymore. The intense pleasure that rushed through him had his spine arcing and his head thrown back, his lips open in a soundless scream.  


Distantly, he heard more bulbs burst.  


“Found it,” Iwaizumi murmured smugly when Oikawa sagged back against the bed. His legs were shaking. He was pretty sure his everything was shaking.  


“Found _what_ , exactly?” he asked, voice hoarse. He almost didn’t recognise it.  


“Your prostrate.” Iwaizumi said simply. “It’s right here-”  


He pushed his fingers against that spot again and Oikawa’s eyes rolled back in his head.  


“F-fuck,” he moaned. “Iwa-chan, I – you-”  


That earlier sensation crept up on Oikawa, the one that felt like he was about to combust. He almost wished he would.  


“I can’t-” he gasped, the words spilling out of him uncontrollably, “Iwa-chan, hurry up, _please_ -”  


Iwaizumi glanced at him, at the sweat glistening on Oikawa’s skin and the wild, wanton sheen to his eyes. He swallowed; he was well aware of how his crotch was aching just from this sight.  


“Okay,” he croaked. He shakily undid the buttons of his jeans, kicking off the garments with clear impatience. Oikawa eyed the wet patch on the front of Iwaizumi’s boxers with interest.  


Iwaizumi almost jumped when fingers slid around the waistband of his underwear and tugged them in one sharp, smooth motion down to his thighs. His cock sprung upwards, red and slick with precome, and Oikawa wondered idly what it would taste like.  


“Get these off,” he said. Iwaizumi obeyed, slinging the boxers to a corner in the dark bedroom, and brought Oikawa’s legs around his hips. He moved forward until he was hovering above the demon, one hand smoothed over Oikawa’s thigh, the other gripping the pillow under Oikawa’s head.  


“You ready?” he whispered. Oikawa licked his lips.  


“Yeah,” he said, and Iwaizumi inched the head of his cock into him.  


Oikawa threw his head back; his veins were on fire, setting him ablaze from the inside out. It was slightly uncomfortable, the strange pressure, but Iwaizumi waited until the demon gave him the go ahead to push in more.  


Slowly, Oikawa was stretched open until Iwaizumi bottomed out, his cock fully sheathed within him. Oikawa couldn’t help but grasp onto Iwaizumi’s shoulders, dig half-crescents into his skin as his veins were scorched with pleasure and heat.  


Iwaizumi wasn’t much better; his teeth had sunk into his lower lip and he was shuddering with the effort of not burying himself in that slick, tight pressure.  


“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said. His voice sounded almost broken. “You can move.”  


And move Iwaizumi did.  


He was gentle at first, only thrusting shallowly into Oikawa, but as the demon’s pleas began up again – “faster, Iwa-chan, please, _please_ -” – he started to drive in at a much quicker pace. Oikawa moaned, noises tumbling from him without shame, clutching at Iwaizumi’s biceps and digging in his nails every time Iwaizumi pounded into him.  


“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi groaned above the obscene slap of skin on skin. Oikawa whimpered. “Oikawa, fuck, you’re so, you’re so good, baby, just like that, just like that-”  


Oikawa moaned, pleasure seeping through him at the words. He latched onto Iwaizumi’s neck, biting and sucking at the skin there to stop the fire growing in him from exploding.  


“Ah,” Iwaizumi gasped. His pace stuttered; when it picked back up again it was much harder, hard enough to drive the bed up against the wall, and at a different angle. One that made Oikawa’s toes curl and his back arch as his mouth dropped into a soundless scream.  


The heat was excessive; sweat dripped off his chin and onto his collarbone, his breaths mere than ragged snatches of air; he felt like he was going to die again, like the electricity shooting up his thighs and shocking his spine was going to burn him to death-  


“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi panted. He grasped a hold of Oikawa’s cock; Oikawa jolted, whining as Iwaizumi began to pump him. He dimly realised he had been saying Iwaizumi’s name. He felt like he was going to collapse. He felt like- “Come, _hah_ , come for me, baby.”  


Oikawa’s breath caught up in his throat as the pleasure suddenly tipped over, rushing through him like a sweeping tide. His back arched again as he bucked down onto Iwaizumi’s cock; his own spurted ropes of white liquid as he shuddered and moaned and grasped onto Iwaizumi.  


When Iwaizumi came not long after, his own orgasm yanked out of him due to the demon’s pornographic display, Oikawa was slowly descending from his high. Strangely, he felt rather... light. Sated. His muscles twinged as Iwaizumi pulled out of him, but soon enough there was a damp cloth on his stomach, wiping away the mess, and someone nudging him under the covers. Oikawa grumbled until Iwaizumi slid in next to him; he laid his head on the human’s chest and smiled as arms dragged him close.  


“So,” he yawned. He heard Iwaizumi snort. “What does this mean? For us?”  


There was a silence. Panic set in for a split seconds, but Oikawa held his ground. He had to know if this was purely a deal, a loophole – or if Iwaizumi felt the same as he did.  


“I get you forever, right?” Iwaizumi asked. Despite how red his cheeks were, his fingers clutched at Oikawa’s back, as though to keep him there. “You’re not going to leave me.”  


Somehow, the addition of ‘me’ caused relief to swoop through Oikawa. It was clear now, that his own feelings were mirrored; how he hadn’t seen this before, he didn’t know.  


Oikawa grinned up at Iwaizumi, sleepily and only half-visible in the dimness. Iwaizumi smiled, mouth pulling wide with contentment. His hair was mussed and his eyes were darkened, jewelled versions of his usual kaleidoscopic irises. Behind him, Oikawa caught sight of the clothesline, this time with a dozen polaroids hanging off of it like stars.  


“A deal’s a deal,” he murmured.

~*~  


“Are these the photographs Matsukawa meant?” Oikawa asked upon seeing Iwaizumi’s eyelids flutter open the next morning. Iwaizumi grunted and pulled Oikawa against him – the action made Oikawa’s skin tingle – before nosing at his hair.  


“What?” he slurred; his voice was deep and rough, although not as rough as last night. Oikawa smiled; he had never seen a sleepy Iwa-chan before.  


“The photographs,” Oikawa said, slipping a finger out from beneath the covers to point at the clothesline above him. Iwaizumi blearily followed the movement. “Are they the ones him and Hanamaki kept going on about?”  


Iwaizumi’s cheeks reddened. “I thought you said you ignored all of that.”  


“I did,” Oikawa shrugged, “at the time. Because I didn’t really get any of it. But was that your way of showing you liked me?”  


There was a beat of silence. Then, “Can’t you go back to being a demon who doesn’t understand humans?” Iwaizumi grumbled. The blush had spread to his ears. “Don’t look at them. It’s embarrassing.”  


“Aw, Iwa-chan-”  


“No.”  


“So when Hanamaki said that thing about you thirsting over me-”  


“Shut up, Shitty Oikawa.”  


Oikawa wrinkled his nose, but he was grinning. “That’s not very nice.”  


“You’re not the one who’s stuck with ‘Iwa-chan’,” Iwaizumi huffed. He pressed his face into Oikawa’s collarbone; his hot breath made Oikawa shiver.  


“You weren’t complaining last night,” Oikawa said smugly; he gasped when Iwaizumi bit down against his skin. “ _Iwa-chan_.”  


“I’m not gonna complain either,” he thought he heard Iwaizumi mutter. He smiled, hands ghosting along Iwaizumi’s back – until suddenly the human was pulling away and rifling in his bedside drawer.  


“Iwa-chan?”  


“Just – stay there,” Iwaizumi said as Oikawa made to sit up. He pouted but obeyed, eyebrows rising in curiosity when Iwaizumi turned back to him with his own polaroid in his hands. He seemed almost nervous. “Could I... take some pictures? Of you?”  


Oikawa’s throat grew dry. He swallowed. “I... yeah.”  


Iwaizumi grinned at him, quick and fleeting, before he rose to straddle Oikawa’s thighs. The sheets were pooled just above his belly-button, so nothing too explicit was exposed – yet Oikawa couldn’t help but feel as though he was entirely on display.  


It wasn’t a sensation he exactly minded.  


“Just lay back,” Iwaizumi said as he lifted the camera to his face. Oikawa obeyed, resting his head on the pillow once more, “and act as though the camera isn’t here.”  


Oikawa arched an unamused eyebrow, one of his hands grasping at the sheets. The camera flashed.  


Iwaizumi was grinning as he peeled the polaroid away and placed it on the bedside table. “Just like that.”  


Oikawa laughed. The camera flashed again.  


They took a couple more photographs like that, of Oikawa laying down, hair spread across the pillow as lavender light filtered through the chink between the curtains. When Iwaizumi shuffled further back, onto Oikawa’s shins, Oikawa took the chance to sit up; his hair fell into his eyes and he smiled, low and warm. Iwaizumi snapped the photograph.  


“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. Oikawa’s cheeks flushed and he averted his gaze, running a hand through his hair. There was another _click_.  


“Iwa-chan!” he protested, half-laughing. There was a flurry of flashes and Oikawa squeezed his eyes shut as he laughed, the sheets fluttering around his hips as he leaned back on his hands.  


Iwaizumi lowered his camera, mouth dry. He couldn’t help but watch the sheets, the white cotton not much lighter than Oikawa’s pale skin.  


“Iwa-chan?”  


“One minute,” he mumbled. Oikawa made a questioning noise when Iwaizumi suddenly pulled the sheet down and slid between his open legs; the noise became a gasp as Iwaizumi sank his teeth into Oikawa’s thigh.  


Oikawa sucked in a breath and threw his head back, one hand grasping at the headboard behind him. He felt himself begin to grow hard.  


If more photographs were taken, they weren’t to be seen by anyone else but those two.

~*~  


“Do you know why I wanted to keep the first polaroid I took so much?” Oikawa asked once he had gotten his breath back.  


Iwaizumi mouthed at his collarbone lazily. “The one of me?”  


“Yeah.”  


“Why?”  


Oikawa smiled lopsidedly. “’Cause you were in it.”  


Iwaizumi blinked. He abruptly kissed Oikawa, hands sliding around his neck.  


“That’s so dumb,” he murmured against his mouth. “You’re so dumb.”  


Oikawa couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah.”

~*~  


_I’m giving you that pleasure heaven  
And I’ll give it to you  
Hotter than Hell_  


~*~  


After that, they lived in harmony.  


Well, not exactly. They still bickered – a lot – and it took Oikawa some time to get used to being in the human world twenty-four seven, but after a while they made it work. He transported all of his belongings to the apartment with a click of his fingers a few days after he had moved in – Iwaizumi wasn’t exactly best pleased, since they had to spend a day sorting through it all – and Iwaizumi bought him new clothes.  


“I’ll pay you back,” Oikawa promised at the end of the month, when Iwaizumi began to grow anxious about the bills. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m a liability, Iwa-chan. I’ll – I’ll get a job.”  


And he did.  


It was only at the local grocery shop, and it was only part time, but it meant money and Oikawa took on as many shifts as he could. He was good at it, at offering people alternatives to items they couldn’t find, at being charismatic and generally himself.  


When he was promoted to a full time position - not through abusing his demonic charisma, as he had done to _get_ the job in the first place - Iwaizumi fucked him against the bedroom wall that night.  


It wasn’t all bad on Iwaizumi’s side, either; Matsukawa fixed up his photography website so it fitted in with the trends of that year. He also updated Iwaizumi’s online portfolio, adding the suitable photographs of Oikawa to it – although Iwaizumi had to deal with Matsukawa making lewd jokes and asking when the ‘sex tape’ would be out the entire time.  


But he would happily endure it again, because two weeks later Iwaizumi got a commission – and then after that they just seemed to roll in. He even received a few big projects, like a small wedding that had budget problems and a month in a calendar that supported local artists.  


And, not that it was important, but the sex was _phenomenal_.  


“I think you were made to suck my dick,” Iwaizumi panted one night in December. Oikawa snorted and shoved him.  


“What, like you were made to eat my ass?” he teased. He had gotten better at the whole dirty talk thing, much to Iwaizumi’s relief.  


“Yeah,” Iwaizumi breathed. He suddenly pushed Oikawa off, the demon sprawling face down on the bed, and climbed on top of him. “Let me – let me do you, baby, let me get you off, you’ve been so good-”  


“Okay,” Oikawa croaked as he stuck his ass in the air, trembling in anticipation. He always felt hot when Iwaizumi praised him.  


“So good,” Iwaizumi almost moaned as he parted Oikawa’s cheeks. Oikawa dug his hands into claws against the bed in an attempt to hang on.  


Their first Christmas together was almost picture-perfect; they spent Christmas Eve curled up on the sofa under a blanket, watching Western movies without the subtitles and laughing at the stupidity of them. The next day Matsukawa and Hanamaki came over, since all three humans’ parents lived too far away to visit.  


“So how’s the married life, Oikawa?” Hanamaki asked slyly as the two lounged on the floor by the sofa. Iwaizumi was banging about in the kitchen, making dinner; he still didn’t trust Oikawa alone with food.  


Oikawa frowned. “We’re not married.”  


“Are you sure?” Hanamaki raised an eyebrow. “You two are grossly domestic and you’ve only been together – what? Two months? It’s been three years for me and Mattsun and I swear we aren’t that bad.”  


“Yes you are!” Iwaizumi shouted.  


“You and Mattsun are together?” Oikawa asked. Hanamaki rolled his eyes as Iwaizumi walked in with a glass of water.  


“See, Iwaizumi? We aren’t that bad – Oikawa didn’t even know we were dating. If someone walked in here they’d know straight _away_.”  


“How?” Oikawa wrinkled his nose.  


“Probably because of your alien movies you leave lying around,” Iwaizumi glared at him as he passed the glass to Hanamaki. Oikawa stuck his tongue out. “And Oikawa is really unperceptive about relationships, so I’m not surprised he didn’t know about you two.”  


“Hey!”  


Hanamaki smirked. “Is that why he didn’t know you wanted to fuck him on this sofa for three months before you guys fin-”  


“Hanamaki!” Iwaizumi hissed. Oikawa eyed the sofa then turned to Iwaizumi with a suggestive tilt of his head.  


“I’m not going to say no if you’re still up for it, Iwa-chan.”  


Hanamaki choked on the mouthful of water he had just taken. Iwaizumi turned bright red.  


Distantly, there was a triumphant yell that sounded like it suspiciously came from the bedroom, and then, “I found the porno photos!”  


Oikawa froze and Iwaizumi’s blood drained from his face. Within seconds they were both scrambling toward the door, Oikawa slipping in his socked feet, leaving Hanamaki half-laughing half-coughing on the carpet.  


“Go Mattsun!”  


Soon enough spring was upon them, in which the plum blossoms began to flourish; it wasn’t long before that drifted into summer. However, at the start of June the rainy season began, leaving the days dreary and foggy.  


“It’s your birthday,” Oikawa complained on the tenth. He had been anticipating this day for some weeks, having been aghast when he found out he had missed Iwaizumi’s twenty-fourth birthday last year. “Why does it have to rain when we’re trying to _celebrate_?”  


“Because,” was all Iwaizumi said. He nudged at Oikawa from where he was slumped on the sofa as he fixed his cufflinks. “Get up. We’re gonna be late meeting Matsukawa and Hanamaki at the restaurant if we don’t leave, like, _now_.”  


Eventually, though, toward the end of June, the weather started to brighten up. By mid-July the world had sunk into that dozy, humid warmth. Oikawa was glad; he didn’t know he missed the unbearable heat until he woke up itchy all over and covered in sweat.  


“Summer,” he moaned as he sprawled across the bed, basking in the warm glow. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”  


Iwaizumi wandered into the bedroom from the bathroom. He swatted Oikawa’s ass. “Oi. You’ve gotta get up and get on – you’ve got a shift at ten, remember?”  


Oikawa immediately regretted everything he had said. “Iwa-chan, I’m not going to survive in this. The store doesn’t even have _air-conditioning_.”  


“What a shame,” Iwaizumi replied as he pulled on a pair of shorts.  


“I’m going to die.”  


“If you do, don’t do it in front of any customers.”  


“Mean!” Oikawa yelled as Iwaizumi’s retreating back. Iwaizumi merely showed him the finger and Oikawa sighed, dragging himself up and out of the sticky sheets.  


To his surprise, he didn’t die – or even collapse. It was actually a good shift, considering how the manager allowed him to snack on ice-pops during his break. What made the day even better was the trip he took to the garden centre afterwards in Iwaizumi’s old car, for they had _exactly_ what he wanted.  


“What are _those_ ,” was how Iwaizumi greeted him when he entered the apartment at half-six that evening.  


“Plants,” Oikawa said cheerfully as the door banged shut behind him. He hefted the two pots higher in his arms. “Well, one’s a pot. For now – I’ve gotta plant the seeds. But they’re to brighten up this little place we’ve got.”  


Iwaizumi’s cheeks pinked. He wiped his hands on a dishcloth as Oikawa entered the kitchen. “But what plants are they?”  


“The one I’ve got to plant will be morning glory,” Oikawa said. “Star of Yelta. Apparently they’re really pretty, and the flowers remain open for a while. And this one,” he raised the pot in his left arm higher, the one that had already seemed to have a small tree growing out of it, “is a Japanese maple. It’s a dwarf one, though, so it won’t grow too big.”  


“Where are they going to _go_?” Iwaizumi asked. He prodded one of the maple’s leaves.  


“On the balcony!” Oikawa responded. “It’s outside so they’ll get sun, but they’ve also got a bit of shelter for when it rains.”  


Iwaizumi pursed his lips. “Are you sure? I don’t want to accidentally kill them or anything-”  


“That’s why it’ll be me taking care of them, dummy,” Oikawa rolled his eyes. “I mean, I _know_ you still don’t trust me when it comes to cooking” – Iwaizumi snorted – “but I’ve wanted to get these for a while. I’ll take care of them. Please, Iwa-chan?”  


“Fine,” Iwaizumi sighed. The timer he had set up earlier beeped and he turned back to the stove. “Are you going to plant that glory one now? You’ve got about half an hour until dinner or so.”  


“Okay,” Oikawa grinned as he headed down the hallway. He called over his shoulder, “Hey, Iwa-chan, you don’t have compost by any chance?”  


“You didn’t buy _compost_?!”  


For all the stress those plants caused, it was worth buying them. They added a little colour to the apartment, even if they _were_ on the outside of it; the morning glory was beautiful when it bloomed, bright purple flowers vibrant splashes against the concrete walls, and the way the plant’s vines climbed across the railings was enchanting. The maple was stunning, its leaves turning crimson as autumn seeped across the world.  


Sometimes Oikawa liked to sit on the floor of the balcony, back against the door with his knees to his chest, especially during the typhoon season. He watched the rain drum against the railings with a beat only nature could hear; he watched how the sky would clear and the air would become hot and the morning glory would bloom again as though nothing had happened.  


It wasn’t often that it came about – less and less as the months went by - but every now and then Oikawa would find himself missing the Underworld. He had lived there for his entire two hundred years of existence; it was only natural that he would feel homesick. But the majority of the time he didn’t miss the place – it was more of the people.  


He would think of Yahaba, with his lightly scolding ways, and Kunimi, who was possibly the most uninterested demon he had ever met. He didn’t particularly have many friends in the Underworld – it was probably why he didn’t miss it as much as he thought he would – and he didn’t know if he could have even _classed_ them as friends, but when he was feeling nostalgic he would think of them and smile.  


He would often wonder why no one had come to find him yet.  


But, as time passed, as the one year mark of his and Iwaizumi’s anniversary came and went, he grew more and more human. His abilities began to fade; no longer could he transport things through space with a snap of his fingers; no longer could he lengthen his nails into claws. No longer could he cause the bulbs to blow out from being either angry or aroused.  


Iwaizumi was not-so-secretly glad about that.  


“I mean, it’s hot and all,” Iwaizumi said when, during a makeout session, the bulbs didn’t even sputter, “but d’you know how much money I’ve had to fork out to replace light bulbs you’ve broken?”  


“Do you want me to pay you back for it or something?” Oikawa snapped. He was grouchy; he felt as though he was losing himself.  


Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “No, you idiot. I’m just saying it’s not a bad thing.” He was silent for a moment; they were on the sofa, Oikawa curled up on Iwaizumi’s chest. Fingers rubbed the skin of Oikawa’s back soothingly. “You know, the first time you did it, I was literally so hard.”  


Oikawa pulled away to lift his head up, incredulous. “What, when I threatened you?”  


“Yeah. It was really sexy but also rather scary,” Iwaizumi admitted. He seemed embarrassed, more so when Oikawa let out a bark of laughter. “Shut up, we’re never speaking about that ever again.”  


“You’re so weird, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said. He nosed at Iwaizumi’s neck and smiled as the arms around him tightened.  


“I’m not the one who said ‘I want the fuck’ the first time we-”  


“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa yelped and tried to sit up, but Iwaizumi wouldn’t let him. “I thought we weren’t going to mention that! Ever!”  


“Just be grateful Matsukawa and Hanamaki don’t know,” Iwaizumi responded. Oikawa shivered at the thought and settled back down, closing his eyes sleepily as hands began to card through his hair.  


Sometimes, yes, he thought about the Underworld and Yahaba and Kunimi. Sometimes he wished he still had the ability to teleport, that he didn’t need to eat and sleep at regular intervals to survive.  


But, every single time he was down, Iwaizumi or the plants or their friends cheered him back up again. Sure, it got awkward now and then, like when Hanamaki asked what date his birthday was and Oikawa had to blurt a random day because he didn’t have one – or when Matsukawa asked about where he grew up and what his parents were like, and Oikawa had to lie and say that he was in and out of foster homes until the age of eighteen. Sure, work was tiring and the pay was nothing like his old job. Sure, Oikawa got angry and upset on occasion.  


But when he did, when things went wrong, when people asked questions he couldn’t answer, Iwaizumi was always there. He marked Oikawa’s new birthday on the calendar stuck to the fridge, announcing that since he didn’t have an actual birthday they might as well make this it. He told Matsukawa that Oikawa didn’t particularly like talking about his family or his past, and so it was never brought up again. He was always there to soothe and relax Oikawa – whether that was in the form of his favourite dinner or sitting with him out on the balcony, buying him a new plant or screwing his brains out.  


Sure, it was hard.  


But they made it work.

~*~  


_Cause you’re looking so right there  
Baby you should touch me right there  
You can take me right there  
We can make it  
_

~*~  


It was on their second anniversary when everything fell apart.  


They had just come back from a restaurant, one fancy enough they broke out the suits, and Oikawa was slightly tipsy. Alcohol was something he didn’t drink very often, except on special occasions – and this was one of them. He was tugging Iwaizumi through their dark apartment, clutching at his boyfriend’s tie and whispering things in his ear. Iwaizumi was laughing lowly, hands hot on his hips through his dress shirt as they stumbled into the lounge; neither of them expected the light to suddenly flick on.  


Oikawa broke away from Iwaizumi, the grin on his face fading away when he saw the man standing just in front of their small TV.  


He was tall, taller than the both of them; his expression was stoic, almost like it was carved from stone. He was wearing a grey suit and his dark brown hair was parted and cut rather raggedly.  


“Who the hell are you?” Iwaizumi demanded. The man didn’t even look at him.  


“Oikawa,” Ushijima said, voice loud and sharp. “What have you been doing for the last two mortal years?”  


Oikawa’s eye twitched. He never did like his – now old – boss; he was, after all, the one who gave his intern a higher position, but there was something about the emptiness of his expressions that made his skin crawl.  


“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi dragged him back into the present; Oikawa glanced at him. “Who is this guy?”  


Oikawa’s voice was cold when he spoke. “My old boss. Ushiwaka, why are you here?”  


He heard Iwaizumi whisper “Ushiwaka?” to himself but otherwise focused on Ushijima, who seemed to notice Iwaizumi for the first time. His eyes flitted between him and Oikawa.  


“I am here,” Ushijima intoned, “to bring back a Contractor who disappeared while on the job.”  


“Ex-Contractor,” Oikawa corrected snidely. “I don’t work for you anymore. Bye-bye now.”  


Ushijima didn’t seem impressed. “Oikawa, you are a demon. You belong to the Underworld. You-”  


“It’s been two years, Ushiwaka-chan,” Oikawa sneered. “Why haven’t you come calling for me before?”  


“I, and the rest of the superiors, believed you were doing your job,” Ushijima said. “It takes a while for other Contractors to secure the deals; we thought you were merely given a difficult case.” His eyes slid over to Iwaizumi. “ _Not_ off gallivanting with humans.”  


“Oi,” Oikawa said sharply. “He’s not just a human. He’s my boyfriend. I – I care for him. A lot.”  


Ushijima acted as though he didn’t hear his words. “You need to come back to the Underworld, Oikawa, or else I will have another demon complete this case.”  


“No can do, I’m afraid,” Oikawa said harshly. “We’ve made a deal; one that means I can’t leave. So I can’t give you his soul. And I don’t _want_ to, either, so why don’t you piss off back to your office?”  


“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi hissed, having kept quiet until now. There was a hand on Oikawa’s wrist, not a warning: an act of support. Ushijima didn’t look best pleased by what Oikawa had said.  


“You have two choices,” he said after a moment. “You can come to the Underworld and be yourself again,” his nose wrinkled as though he could _smel_ l Oikawa’s humanity, “which would void your contract with Iwaizumi. Or, you can stay here with him.  


Oikawa’s newly-beating heart stuttered with hope, before it crashed upon hearing Ushijima’s next words, “Which would result in my dispatching of an Exterminator.”  


An _Exterminator_. The demons that were employed solely to kill the humans that didn’t agree to contracts.  


“What?” Oikawa snarled in disbelief. “You’re going to – to” – he couldn’t force the word out – “just because I don’t want to be a demon anymore?”  


Ushijima stared at him impassively. “You are a good Contractor, Oikawa,” he said. “It would be a shame to let your talents go to waste.”  


Oikawa growled and smashed his fist into one of the paintings hanging on the wall. The glass shattered; when Oikawa pulled his hand away, he was almost surprised to see blood staining his knuckles.  


But mostly it just made him angrier.  


“-Oikawa, Oikawa, calm down,” Iwaizumi’s voice filtered through the rushing in Oikawa’s head. Hands covered his and he raised his head, seeing his own wretchedness reflected back at him in Iwaizumi’s eyes. “Whatever this is we’ll figure this out, don’t worry, it’ll be okay-”  


“But it won’t, will it?” Oikawa asked, anguished. “I’ve only got one real choice here.”  


The whole thing suddenly seemed like karma, for all of the innocent people’s souls he had bargained for. Oikawa gritted his teeth.  


“That’s what I thought two years ago, but we found our way around that, didn’t we? And we will with this,” Iwaizumi said desperately. “We will. We _will_ , Oikawa, I’m not losing you-”  


“I have to go,” Oikawa said. _I don’t want you to die_. He curled his hands back into fists, glad for the sting of pain when he dug his nails into his skin.  


“But you said-” Iwaizumi took a breath, one in which Oikawa looked at him one last time. In his suit, hair still its usual messy style, face wiped free of anything but despair, Iwaizumi made Oikawa’s entire being ache. It also made him realise what he had to do. “You said forever, Oikawa. You-”  


“I lied, okay?!” he yelled and snatched his hands away. He couldn’t look at Iwaizumi. “What, did you really think a demon would give themselves up for a human? For someone like _you_?”  


“But... you... we...” Iwaizumi sounded lost. “We’re _happy_ , we-”  


“ _I_ wasn’t,” Oikawa scoffed. The use of past tense made Iwaizumi’s breath hitch. “Let’s be honest, Iwaizumi – you’re boring. This – whatever I had with you – was boring. You’re nice and all, and you’re a good fuck, but I never thought this was going anywhere. I mean, did you?”  


He made himself catch Iwaizumi’s eye as he delivered the final blow. The pain in his expression 

almost tore Oikawa apart.  


“You just seemed so lonely in this ratty old apartment that I said yes. I didn’t want this.  


“I didn’t want _you_.”  


For a long, long moment Iwaizumi looked broken.  


Then his mouth tightened into a line and he drew himself upright. Pulled himself back. His eyes were dark and hard, none of the softness he had looked at Oikawa with for the last two years there. He was staring at Oikawa as though he was a stranger.  


“Get out,” he said. His voice was empty, hard. “Get out. _Now_.”  


Oikawa turned and strode to Ushijima, who seemed indifferent to what had just happened. The demon placed a hand on Oikawa’s shoulder; Oikawa fought the urge to shake it off. He fought the urge to look back at Iwaizumi.  


“Let’s go,” he said.

~*~  


_Does it burn when I’m not there?  
When you’re by yourself  
Am I the answer to your prayers_  


~*~  


Oikawa’s life went back to how it used to be.  


He was still a Contractor; he was still given cases that he completed easily; he still annoyed Kunimi excessively and teased Yahaba.  


The only real, physical difference was that he was constantly monitored by Ushijima.  


Every case he was given Ushijima accompanied him, a silent, invisible shadow as Oikawa presented the contract to the human. When they returned to the conference room Ushijima would seat Oikawa down at the table and list everything he could have done better, everything that would have made the human agree quicker.  


It wasn’t that Oikawa wanted to remain in the human world as long as possible. In every mortal he saw Iwaizumi; he saw the life he had lost in the photographs lined on the humans’ walls and the television in the background, in the cherry blossom trees swaying outside the windows.  


If anything, Oikawa never wanted to go back to the human world ever again.  


It showed, as well. He wasn’t as exuberant as he used to be when talking to mortals; his jokes to Yahaba fell flat more often than not; when the department received a new bunch of interns he didn’t even inform them of his status as an incubus _once_.  


Even Kunimi noticed. While that’s not exactly surprising, him bringing it up was. “Are you alright, Oikawa-san?” he asked one day. Oikawa was sat at the conference table, staring off into space; Ushijima had left to go on his break fifteen minutes ago.  


Oikawa shook his head and forced a smile. “I’m fine, Kunimi-chan.”  


For a moment, he had been back on a balcony with morning glory climbing across the railing, listening to rain rap against the apartment.  


“Oikawa-san,” Yahaba began anxiously from where he was opposite Oikawa. The latter merely shook his head.  


“I’m fine, Yahaba. Honest.”  


Yahaba twisted his lip. “Is it about...?”  


While no other demon had brought up Oikawa’s brief period away from the Underworld, Oikawa knew they were curious. Even though Kunimi was gazing at the water cooler with his usual discontent expression, he could practically hear his ears prick up.  


Oikawa opened his mouth – to say what exactly, he wasn’t sure – but then Ushijima re-entered the room and he snapped it shut.  


“Oikawa, I thought we could talk about that last case of yours.” Ushijima said. He nodded at Yahaba who had hurriedly gone back to sorting out completed cases, and paused upon seeing Kunimi’s dormant position in the corner. “Kunimi, are you planning on doing any work today?”  


Kunimi met his gaze. He took a sip from his plastic cup.  


Oikawa couldn’t help but feel a twinge of smugness at the ex-intern-now-Contractor’s attitude.  


Ushijima took a seat beside Oikawa, disregarding Kunimi for the time being. Oikawa abruptly felt tired. “That last case. Who was it with?”  


“Kindaichi Yuutaro,” Oikawa intoned as Yahaba silently handed Ushijima the folder. Ushijima flicked through it.  


“He possibly did not agree to the contract because of numerous reasons. Firstly...”  


Oikawa zoned out as Ushijima prattled on and on. He would have remained in his funk if he hadn’t caught Yahaba’s gaze – which was one of complete and utter surprise.  


Oikawa knew why; because there was not a day, two mortal years ago, when he would have taken pointers from anyone, _especially_ not Ushijima.  


It was then that he realised he didn’t care.  


He didn’t care about the case; he didn’t care about his job; he didn’t care about whatever Ushijima was saying.  


All he cared for was a squidgy, soft human with a grumpy exterior and a real knack for making udon curry.  


“I’m done,” Oikawa suddenly said, cutting off Ushijima mid-sentence.  


Ushijima glanced up, displeased at being interrupted. “With this case?”  


“No,” Oikawa shook his head and stood up, pushing his chair back. “Well, yes, actually. I’m done with this case – but mostly I’m done with being a Contractor. And I’m _definitely_ done with you breathing down my neck about _every single little thing I do_.”  


Ushijima watched him stride round the table, expression emotionless. “Oikawa, I did not mean to... smother you. You are a good Contractor; with help I believe you can be back on the road you were on-”  


“What, the crossroads?” Oikawa laughed bitterly as he yanked the door open. He could feel Yahaba and Kunimi’s eyes on him. “I don’t like this job anymore, Ushiwaka. I don’t like being a _demon_. I quit. And _don’t_ ,” he sharpened his voice into something that could break glass, “bother coming to find me.  


He flicked his gaze from the folder open on the table to Kunimi by the water cooler, and back to Ushijima staring stonily at him. “Give Kunimi-chan the case. Kindaichi was intimidated by me – he needs a Contractor who won’t pressure him.”  


“Thanks,” Kunimi said dryly.  


“And while you’re at it, promote Yahaba to my position. He’ll be better than every Contractor you’ve ever had,” Oikawa was looking at Ushijima as he spoke, but he still caught Yahaba’s widening eyes out of the corner of his peripheral.  


“Oikawa-,” Ushijima began.  


“No,” Oikawa said tersely. “I’m leaving. I hope I never see you again.”  


With that, he slammed the door shut behind him.

~*~  


It had been thirteen months.  


Oikawa stood outside the apartment door with his heart in his throat. It had been strange, to feel it beating when he was becoming human – and then to have burnt into a crisp the moment he stepped back into Hell. But he was certain that it was fluttering ever so slightly beneath his skin as he stared at the apartment door.  


He knocked. His hand wanted to slip in his key and twist the rusted handle – but he didn’t have it anymore. He had left everything behind.  


Everything he had ever loved was in that apartment.  


The door opened a minute later and Oikawa’s breath caught, lost underneath his tongue.  


Iwaizumi was still as handsome as he had always been. His hair was still dark and spiked; his eyes were still gems lit with green flames; he still didn’t wear socks around the house.  


Oikawa saw the scar on his jawline. He saw the freckles on his nose. He saw how his hair was shorter than usual and his skin a shade darker – it must have been a good summer. He hoped it was.  


He saw the astonishment on his face quickly flit to outrage and resentment and then... nothing. His expression was blank, cold, like it was the last time Oikawa had ever seen him.  


“Iwaizumi,” he said. Iwaizumi flinched, just barely, and Oikawa wished he had never gone back to the Underworld  


“I... I was wondering,” he croaked, then cleared his throat hastily, “if I could stay with you. Just for tonight.”  


Iwaizumi blinked. His grip on the door loosened.  


“Okay,” he said.  


He stepped aside to let Oikawa in. The apartment was dark, lit only by the kitchen – but it was enough for Oikawa to see, as he slipped off his shoes, that any trace of him living there had disappeared.  


Gone were the alien movies he always left lying around in the lounge. Gone was the calendar marking his birthday on the fridge. Gone was his winter work fleece on the coat rack.  


It was as though he had never lived there.  


Oikawa waited silently in the hallway as Iwaizumi disappeared, mumbling something about ‘clothes to sleep in’. He returned not soon later, a pyjama set in his hands – one that Oikawa immediately recognised.  


It was the first pair of pyjamas Iwaizumi had bought him. Oikawa took them, feeling like he was being strangled.  


Wordlessly, he followed Iwaizumi further into the apartment.

~*~  


He ended up sleeping in the bed.  


Iwaizumi took the sofa, insisting that guests stay in the bedroom. They didn’t speak much – that was their only real interaction – and the use of the word ‘guest’ made Oikawa want to bite his knuckles.  


He ended up sleeping in the bed, but he didn’t actually _sleep_.  


For an hour he laid there, gazing up at the ceiling. At the empty clothesline. Eventually he got up and tiptoed to the balcony, closing the door with a _click_ behind him.  


He was hit with a gust of wind almost immediately, but it wasn’t a chilly one. Still, he shivered as he sat back against the wall with his knees to his chest.  


What made Oikawa’s eyes prick with tears was how his plants were still there. They were in perfect condition; the night-blooming cereus Iwaizumi had bought him for their first anniversary was in full bloom, the white flowers bright against the stark concrete walls. The maple’s leaves were crimson, waving in the breeze.  


For a while Oikawa watched the clear dark sky, counting every star he could see. He was relieved to be back in the human world, no ties to the Underworld holding him back anymore – but it still felt wrong.  


Iwaizumi wasn’t with him.

~*~  


A few hours later Oikawa awoke, having fallen asleep without realising it. With a sigh and a crack of his joints he pulled himself up, rubbing at his sore neck regretfully. He didn’t realise how cold he was until he stepped back inside the apartment and warmth ghosted across his bare skin; he rubbed at his arms and headed down the hallway, stopping instinctively outside the open lounge door.  


The room was shrouded in darkness but Oikawa could see the shape of the couch – and also see the form of Iwaizumi on top of it, bundled beneath blankets as he was. He stepped just inside the doorway, one hand clutching the door frame; he knew Iwaizumi didn’t want to talk him, didn’t want him here, and yet Oikawa couldn’t help the ache that spread through him at the sight of the human. He couldn’t help but edge even closer.  


And then Iwaizumi turned over and Oikawa caught the glint of an eye in the dimness and he froze. Once again, his heart was in his throat.  


The seconds ticked by, punctuated by the tick of the clock on the mantelpiece. The fridge hummed. The wind whispered and pressed itself against the windows.  


Oikawa was about to leave when Iwaizumi said, voice rough, “Can’t sleep?”  


Oikawa nodded. He dared not say anything.  


Iwaizumi sat up, pulling one of the blankets around his shoulders, and gestured at Oikawa to sit down. Hesitantly he complied, curling himself into a corner of the armchair.  


Neither of the two spoke, although Oikawa was aware of Iwaizumi’s eyes on him. The demon bit down against his knuckles and fixed his gaze on the fraying carpet.  


“Why are you here?” Iwaizumi asked abruptly. His voice was quiet and he sounded tired, but Oikawa jumped all the same.  


“I...” he trailed off, the words sticking on his tongue. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”  


Iwaizumi just stared at him. Eventually Oikawa sucked in a breath and spoke again, voice trembling.  


“I left the Underworld.” He said, and watched Iwaizumi’s eyes widen and then narrow in the darkness.  


“Why?” was his sharp response. Oikawa almost flinched back at it.  


“Because I don’t...” he struggled to reply, “I don’t want to be away from you anymore.”  


And then everything else just tumbled out of him; about how he lied because he knew Iwaizumi wouldn’t let him go; how if he had stayed Iwaizumi would have been slaughtered and Oikawa would never have been able to live with himself; how his job and Ushijima were suffocating him; how he didn’t want to be a demon anymore; how every second he was away from Iwaizumi hurt more than he ever thought it could.  


“I missed you,” he finished, eyes downcast once more. “I still do.”  


He fell quiet afterwards, and then there was only silence and the creaks of the apartment. Oikawa dug his fingers into his palms and resisted the urge to bite on his knuckles again.  


“I think,” Iwaizumi said slowly sometime later, when Oikawa had just about given up hope, “to some extent I knew that it was a lie. I mean, I wanted it to be.” He cleared his throat. “When I gave you that deal it wasn’t just... it wasn’t just because it was a loophole.”  


Oikawa’s gaze shot up. Iwaizumi’s cheeks seemed almost crimson in the shadows; Oikawa hastily said, pulse thrashing, “It wasn’t. On my part either, I mean.”  


Iwaizumi stared at him before running a hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the rumpled strands. He laughed bitterly and the sound made Oikawa bite at his lip, although he still didn’t look away. “It’s been a year. I’ve tried to move on but I _can’t_ , and it’s driving me crazy because I want to hate you but I just...” he looked helpless then, angry and resentful and lost all at once, “I just can’t help but love you.”  


Oikawa stopped breathing. His voice was a mere whisper. “I think... I think I love you too. I don’t know what love is, exactly, but when I look at you – when I think of you, of the last two years, I feel so much more... human.”  


Iwaizumi still looked lost, but there was a glimmer of almost _hope_ hidden in the shadows of his expression. He took a breath that trembled in the air between them but his tone was firm when he asked, “Are you going to leave again?”  


“No,” Oikawa said immediately. He could feel Iwaizumi’s eyes studying him, fixated on him, and he didn’t smile or change his expression. He wanted Iwaizumi to know that what he saw and heard was the truth. “I’ll be here for as long as you want me to be.”  


The word ‘forever’ hung between them, but Oikawa knew, without asking, that it would be a long time – maybe days, maybe weeks, maybe months – before either of them dared say it again.  


And he was more than willing to be there for every second of it.  


“Okay,” Iwaizumi said quietly. He repeated it and he sounded relieved. “Okay.”  


Cautiously, Oikawa unfolded himself from the armchair and padded across the small space to the sofa. He sat down beside Iwaizumi, not too close, and turned to face him, crossing his legs. Iwaizumi was beautiful in the darkness, chiaroscuro, all shadows and slivers of cheek and lips; he looked young, in his Godzilla pyjamas and the blanket around his shoulders, although he was now twenty-seven.  


Oikawa looked at him, at his spiked hair and the freckles he could just make out on his nose; at the violet crescents beneath his eyes and the scar on his jawline; at the mouth that was slowly edging its way into a disbelieving yet content smile.  


“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice trembling. Iwaizumi nodded.  


The clock on the mantelpiece clicked. The fridge hummed. The wind whispered and pressed itself against the windows.  


As Iwaizumi threw a blanket around Oikawa’s shoulders and pulled him in close by the corners of it, Oikawa thought of udon curry and warm rain, of Western television shows without the subtitles and photography sessions in the pale light of dawn.  


As Iwaizumi’s lips parted his gently, shakily, as though it was new and fresh and all-too-exhilarating, Oikawa thought of sticky summer heat and that one polaroid he still carried around with him.  


When Iwaizumi pulled away and blinked at him, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks and mouth curving into something too happy to contain, Oikawa smiled and thought,  


_I’m finally home_.

~*~  


_You see into my soul  
With eyes, control  
You see into my soul  
And take a hold  
And I will let you in  
Let the love, within_

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone wanted to know, what Oikawa ordered the fridge magnets into during his second visit was 'Oikawa was here'.  
> Iwaizumi saw the magnets the same day. He also never reordered them.  
> The lyrics are from Hotter than Hell by Dua Lipa, although the last verse [Iwaizumi's] is Let the Love by Starkillers.  
> It's also my first fic on here [although not my first time writing Iwaoi] so I'd appreciate any kind of feedback.  
> This took me just over three weeks to write. Three weeks in which I was supposed to be revising [oops].  
> EDIT [27/07/16]: This has been driving me crazy ever since yesterday but if you ever want to feel sad about Iwaizumi after Oikawa left him, listen to All I Want by Kodaline. I only _just_ realised how perfect it was for Iwaizumi in that year-long gap even though it's like one of my favourite songs.  
> 


End file.
